Simplify me when I'm Dead - A Downton Abbey Rewrite of sorts
by Amara25
Summary: a DA that is a little more satisfying. I want to focus on the lives of the Crawley sisters, so this is a little bit of a feminist narrative, highlighting the challenges of their kind of womanhood, and how they journey through this. The romance at the heart of it is Matthew and Mary, but this story is not all about romance. Hope you like it, please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Simplify me when I'm dead**

 _This is mostly a Downton Abbey FanFic, taking some inspiration from RC Cobleigh, and trying to write a DA that is a little more satisfying. I want to focus on the lives of the Crawley sisters, so this is a little bit of a feminist narrative, highlighting the challenges of their kind of womanhood, and how they journey through this. The romance at the heart of it is Matthew and Mary, but this story is not all about romance. Hope you like it, please read and review._

Cliches give us certain truths. Such as, there are no atheists in foxholes. And, as Matthew Crawley, heir to the Earl of Grantham, lay down in the filth of his foxhole, he thought of God and godlessness and of the things that made him believe in the sacred. Music, nature, love. A pair of chocolate brown eyes swam into his vision. Yes, the love that he knew. Smiling, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Miles away, as the constant drizzle of the afternoon became the thunderstorm of the early evening, Lady Mary Crawley felt a swift and sudden chill. Startling her grandmother, she dropped her cup of tea onto the plush carpet.

That is Matthew and Mary now, in that time and in that place, separated but connected ( as they always would be). It will never matter what the circumstances but Matthew cannot rid himself from Mary and Mary cannot rid herself of Matthew. They have the kind of love that elicits great lines of poetry, they are entwined trees, twinn'd compasses. You get my general drift. The Other Storyteller gave us this love, this love for the ages, and we need it to play out. So let us defy him slightly and rework his story. Turn back the page a little and let us go to Downton Abbey as it was before the war, to a dinner party where the Earl and Countess of Grantham are hosting the son of the Viscount of Branksome, and a Certain Turkish Diplomat. See Lady Mary Crawley, resplendent in red and deeply infatuated by her good looking guest. She deftly dodges the bland attentions of the earnest Evelyn Napier and the shy but determined Matthew Crawley, sparkling in the smiles and glances of the handsome foreigner.

See Lady Mary unable to stop herself from following the Diplomat out to the hallway. See the Diplomat kiss her swiftly and forcefully, rousing in her equal responses of lust and revulsion. She admonishes him and returns to the drawing room, sitting by her mother and willing her burning cheeks to cool.

As Matthew Crawley goes home that night, he makes a resolution. However beguiling he may find Mary Crawley's icy disdain, he will not allow himself to follow her like a puppy. What, truly, has overcome him in these past months? He, Matthew Crawley, man of the moral high ground, feeling such infatuation for a woman who could appear so very cold? She was so damnably attractive, that was the thing. And yet, Matthew had also seen her softness. He truly felt guilt? Pity?, for usurping her wealth and estate. " _And I am to mean nothing in all of this?"_ Her words often struck him when he and Robert walked the estate making plans and starting developments. Mary knew the estate and the land. She deserved to be the one to build it in the future. Thoughts of the strictures and limitations placed on women through property law and inheritance carried Matthew through the rest of the night. Had Matthew been a different sort of man, he would have actively taken up this cause, through political writing or supporting the women's movement. Matthew is not that sort of man, but let us be glad that he feels deep empathy with the stagnant lives that women are often forced to lead in Edwardian times.

We have to pull ourselves away from Matthew's recumbent form- loath as we are to stop gazing at his gorgeous eyes- and turn our eyes to the Abbey because The Incident is ab out to begin. We swoop in on Lady Mary's bedroom where she lies in her bed, still slightly flustered from the events of the day. The attentions of the Diplomat is thrilling and disturbing. Let us remind ourselves that this Mary Crawley is still very young, and not yet the sophisticate she will eventually become. For all her aloofness, she is still a little naïve. Having been really kissed only once, in a perfunctory sort of way by Patrick Crawley, the determination and unbridled lust of this evening's kiss gives her much to ponder over. Did she like it? What did it mean for her body to react that way? She oddly wonders what it would be like to be kissed in that way by Matthew Crawley.

"Goodness me," thinks Mary, "has Granny managed to get inside my head?"

She reflects to herself that if her Grandmother could, she most certainly would.

But Mary is not to be left to her thoughts for very long. The stage is set. We have a bright, beautiful bedroom, lit by a candle and a fire. We have a young virgin in a flowing cotton nightdress. Enter the dastardly and handsome villain, dripping with animal sensuality and draped in a fine dressing grown.

The maiden gasps and orders him out, telling him that he is mad. He confesses to be in the grip of madness. She says she will scream. With the cool confidence of the practiced seducer, he tells her that if she does scream, she will still be ruined to have a man in her room. In the Other Story, Lady Mary Crawley, frightened, naiive and a little thrilled, does not scream.

In this story, Lady Mary screams.


	2. Chapter 2

Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 2

Consider the scream of an Edwardian female aristocrat, brought up to know French and how to curtsey, always deeply aware of her society, and because of this, being really rather sensitive. Consider also that she knows well the cavernousness of the house she lives in, and can calculate her volume precisely. Lady Mary Crawley may still be quite young, but she is a deeply intelligent young woman. In her later years, many will remark how much she reminds them of Violet Crawley.

Lady Mary screams and it is a piercing sound. Panic enters the eyes of the Diplomat and he makes quickly to leave. Chance – or shall we say the hand of this writer- has his dressing gown caught on the handle of the door and he is delayed by one or two minutes. But it is enough. As he flees down the corridor, he runs right into Robert, Earl of Grantham.

"What the devil is going on?" The Earl glances from his night time prowler to the open door of his eldest daughter's bedroom, and very nearly commits murder.

"Give an explanation, sir, as to why I should find you fleeing my daughter's room at this time of night?"

The Diplomat – after all he is the villain of the piece- attempts a little swagger.

"Your daughter proffered an invitation, sir, how could I-"

He is cut off by what sounds like a hiss from the Countess, who, standing behind her husband, is trembling with rage.

"Cora, " says the Earl, "I think it is best that you went to Mary. "

The Earl motions to his wife and younger daughters – for by now most of the household is roused- to go to Mary's room.

"You will go back to your room, Mr Pamuk, and you will pack your things and see yourself to the Grantham Arms. Carson, please see to it that Mr Pamuk leaves this house within the hour. "

Bristling from his brows to his brogues, the butler is truly happy to see the gentleman out. The Diplomat notes that, even in his night attire, the butler is a significantly imposing sight.

Evelyn Napier- who has thus far remained at the Earl's side- makes a move to placate him, but Robert firmly orders his back to bed. He leaves Cora to care for Mary and decides to ring for Dr Clarkson in the morning. While Robert does deeply care for his daughter and is quite worried, he has a very strict understanding of the division between male and female worlds. Smiling gently at the housekeeper, who lingers awaiting further orders, he sends the servants and himself to bed.

In Mary's bedroom, the women gather around her in a circle. Edith is torn between the schadenfreude of finding her sister in a possible scandal, and genuine sisterly care. Sybil, our budding suffragette, is in high umbrage.

Cora gently strokes Mary's shoulders. "Are you all right my dear? Can you tell me what happened? How did he know to find your room?" Cora is angry and scared and confused, and her questions tumble over themselves.

"Oh I can't talk right now Mama. Must you ask so many questions!". Belieing the tears that still wet her cheeks, the face that Mary turns to her mother is an expressionless mask.

"Poor Mary. You've had a terrible shock." , says Sybil.

"Yes, why don't we ring for some hot sweet tea? Doesn't Granny always swear by sweet tea?". Edit's ringing of the bell brings Anna, already bearing a tray of hot tea and brandy.

In the quiet mandated by Mary, the ladies sip their tea. When it is over, they rise to leave.

"When you are ready, Mary, I will ask that you meet with me and Papa. We will need to know what happened. Preferably before you Grandmother does."

"Yes Mama."

Mary watches her mother and sisters leave the room, but, just at the end she stops Sybil. "Might I stay with you tonight?"

Outside the house, a match flares in the semi-darkness. Ignoring the glares of the butler, the Diplomat leans into his cigarette. A wasted night, he thinks, and a damn shame. He is not pleased to have been found out, and, to his credit, feels a modicum of guilt. The butler and a footman bundle him into the car and a glaring Irish chauffeur speeds the Diplomat away.

Mary Crawley hears the car as it leaves Downton and raises a silent prayer of thanksgiving that the Chapter is closing.

But this is Downton and our characters have not been written to have humdrum lives. Yes, something has closed. The events of tonight spell the end of girlhood for the three Crawley sisters, but it also begins their womanhood- perhaps the glorious and most difficult chapter of all.


	3. Chapter 3

Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 3

In large households of old, servants are loyal to a fault Well, most servants. At least servants of the ilk of Mr Carson. At breakfast he gathers the servants and informs them that a despicable incident occurred, that no member of the family is at fault, and that neither he nor Mrs Hughes will condone any gossip. Above all, no one is to speak about the incident to anyone in the village.

Those servants who do know the details of the incident – with the notable exception of Miss O'Brien- agree with Mr Carson. The junior servants sigh. All the know are half whispers. All they know is that it concerns Lady Mary and the gorgeous Turkish Gentleman. Mr Bates notes that Thomas the footman looks fidgety and defiant. He cocks an eye at Anna and motions towards Thomas. Anna has a sudden moment of sheer clarity, and it is all she can do not to throw her butter knife at the footman.

Evelyn Napier leaves the house after breakfast, eager to catch an early train. He made apologies to the Earl and was silently, but firmly dismissed. He would have to hope that time and the gaiety of the London season allow him back into the good graces of the family.

Mary Crawley is outside, awaiting the summons of her Mama and is in deep self-doubt. Why did he come to her? Oh how she regretted her reckless, public flirting! How she despised herself at this very moment!

"Lady Mary?" It was Anna. "His Lordship would like to see you in the library."

"Of course."

As Mary heads back into the house, she sees her grandmother's car turn up the drive. _Well,_ she thought to herself, _if I was a Catholic, I would call this penance._

They say that a rumour can travel the world before the truth has even had the chance to put its shoes on. Consider then a rumour that concerns the fine family up at the house and is even begun by one of the protagonists of the story itself. The Diplomat, having had to arrive at the Grantham Arms almost at last call, spent a good evening drinking beer and regaling the clientele with the story of a lusty, ravenous young women, and he an obliging lover, only to be discovered by her family because the lady's moans were too loud. This is the way of some men, who, to hide their shame and guilt, will turn to boasting and lies. By midday, the story is all round the village. In the Other Story, the Diplomat is dead, and presumably his secret taken to the grave. Not so in this one.

At Crawley House, the maid Beth excitedly tells the story to Mrs Bird and Mr Moseley, only to be silenced by these senior servants. (In years to come, Mary Crawley will be thankful for the loyalty of servants.) Therefore, it passes that Matthew Crawley, who breakfasts early and soon is on his way to Ripon to work, does not hear about The Incident.

Isobel Crawley, who is largely more observant than her son, sees the smiles and the titters on her way to the hospital to oversee inventory. The nurses are too good mannered to tell her, but a young trainee, her eyes alight does ask " Were you up at the big house last night Mrs. Crawley? Is it true that there was a beautiful foreign gentleman?"

Thinking she has finally understood all the excitement, Isobel laughs and nods. "Yes he was certainly a treat for the eyes. All the young ladies were quite taken with him."

Poor Isobel! If only she knows what she has confirmed!

Up at the house, Mary is a facing a panel of her senior relations. Part of Mary is deeply indignant. She had not given in to his advances, must there be this cross examination. Reading her face correctly, Robert crosses to sit by her. " We just need to ascertain what happened last night. Are you hurt? Should we be taking action?"

"Moreover," said Cora, "how did he know which was your room? Why did he think he could come to you?"

The Dowager twitched and pursed her lips. "We must know everything Mary. That man has already spread his version around. The village is agog. I managed to get it from my butler who got it from the boy who brings the papers. No doubt your servants already know. He has certainly mastered the fascination of the townspeople. Although why anyone listens to a foreigner is beyond me."

"But what is the story Mama?"

Upon hearing it, the Earl shook his head. "We were alerted because Mary screamed. I think we were just in time."

"Mary?"

"He came to my room. He was unwanted. I screamed."

"And?"

"And what else is there? I'm ruined either way!"

"Don't be so melodramatic! You're not the tragic heroine in an opera.", retorts her grandmother.

"Oh Granny, don't be maudlin."

"Never mind your Grandmother," the Dowager sniffs at Cora for this, " you need to answer my questions."

"Mama, I have told you what happened."

"I know and I believe in your virtue, but you must admit that you did flirt with him in the most shocking way. I am still at a loss to know how he knew the location of your bedroom. The distance between the family rooms and the bachelor's corridor is so very distant."

"Mama do you really think-?"

"it is not what I think Mary. The story is already in the village. Our lives are tenuous, our reputations are tenuous. It is all you have, Mary. You flirted with him so publicly, so wantonly!

"This is unhelpful, Cora. I came here only to say that we must control the story. We can hope that deference and loyalty to the family will help it die down soon enough here if we do nothing to confirm it, but we must get ahead of this man before he takes the story to London."

"Will he be taken seriously?" the Earl, like all Englishmen of his time, was a little sniffy about foreigners

" It is not him, is it? How many suitors has Mary spurned these past three seasons? All we need is a slightly irked society mother. London society is vile, and how easy it will be to cast shade at the Earl of Grantham. There's already enough babble surrounding Matthew and his middle-class ness." The Dowager, knowing that she is right, is now enjoying herself immensely. "We need a plan Robert."

Mary, who has been silent because her mother's words have alerted her to her own insecurities, asks to leave. She is dismissed.

"I think, " says Cora slowly, "that before too much damage is done, we must see Mary married. She is already getting older."

"I agree my dear. The bloom is almost off the rose. Has she shown any partiality to Cousin Matthew?"

"No, I'm afraid not. He did seems eager towards her, though."

"I can't see that we can force things, " begins Robert, only to be shushed by his Mama.

"Robert, you must stop reading novels. It is time that we worked on Matthew, it is his duty to marry Mary. If he can rouse some spirit in him and get her interested, we may have her married in three months time. But I rather fear that it is up to us."

"How will we keep him from finding out about the incident? "

"No one in the village will repeat gossip to a member of the family. We will need to be careful, of course. We can work together. And I think, my dear, that we shall need another ally."

"So we are to be friends, then?"

"Allies my dear, which is so much better. Now come, we shall call upon Cousin Isobel."


	4. Chapter 4

Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 3

The next two days pass in relative silence. The Dowager is busy exerting her significant feudal influence throughout the village. She relates to her servants the correct version of events, and encourages them to spread this story around, so as to provide counter narrative. She pulls patronage from any business that she hears favouring the less salubrious version of The Incident. Moreover, she plays her trump card, highlighting the deep xenophobia that the English are privy to. He is a foreigner. A foreigner. Could he truly be trusted against the word of an upstanding English woman? Surely it was that he tried and failed?

The Crawleys hold enough sway in Downton and indeed throughout Yorkshire, that soon enough the story is muddied or dismissed enough that no one is quite sure what has happened. Within the village, the combined efforts of Spratt, Carson and Molesley, operating sort of like a Butler's Mafia has kept the servants silent. This is not to say that Miss O' Brien or Thomas Barrow can be reigned in completely. They will both write letters to gossipy valets and ladies maids of their acquaintance highlighting that an incident certainly did occur.

The source of the spite of these two servants against the family is truly unknown. Partly, it is the fact that they are not in favour with Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes. It is also the fact that the life of a servant is hard, and often thankless. There is great respect and privilege in a life of service – as Mr Carson will remind us – but it is still the life of a servant. Looking around at the luxurious and sometimes wasteful life of the aristocracy is difficult. Why should so few be allowed so much? In the case of Miss O'Brien and Thomas, these reflections only curdled inside, leading them to acting in spiteful ways. Truly, it is unfortunate.

Between the story that the Diplomat himself will carry to London, and the aspersions cast about by Thomas and O'Brien via the medium of the post, Violet Crawley's real work will begin when the family goes to London for Sybil's debut. Many will not believe the rumours, but enough will know them to greatly reduce Mary's chances at securing a suitable catch. For that is the way of this world, that the man's reputation is of less matter than character of the woman, which hangs by the finest of threads. Pamuk was right that Mary would always be somewhat damaged because there had been a man in her room.

For a wonder, Matthew Crawley has not heard hide nor hair of the incident. He was a little put out by Mary's interest in the Diplomat and his natural grumpiness has not made him much of a conversationalist. Matthew, too, is not a gregarious man, and does not invite the kind of confidences that lead to gossip. Thankfully, too, in the law offices of Harvel and Carter, gossip about aristocrats isn't quite the order of the day.

It helps also that something of an alliance has formed between Cora, Violet and Isobel. For Isobel, she is glad of the friendships of two other women. And, as a forward thinking sort of woman, she has taken Mary's side on principle. Lastly, Isobel can see that her son is partial to Mary, and that he is himself a little lonely. Mary, while a little cold, would be the ideal guide for Matthew when he becomes Earl of Grantham. Isobel is also sharp enough to realise that in marrying Mary, Matthew would gain a certain kind of acceptance in the eyes of the society that he has now joined. Isobel, in her own forthright way, has been encouraging Matthew to seek out Mary's company.

Mary Crawley has had a tough couple of days. She has avoided her Mama, because the Countess still feels a need to have some details of the night explained to her. Cora, out of fright and shame, has been more than a little harsh with Mary, and Robert, noting Mary's rudeness to her mother, has also not been speaking to her favourably.

Mary finds this untenable. Although nothing occurred between her and the Diplomat, Mary is still feeling deeply ashamed that she indulged in behaviour that caused him to be so bold in his advances. Mary does not have an older sister or confidant to tell her that flirting will never justify the aggressiveness of Pamuk's approach, and so she spends these two days in quiet reflection. Mary is not only ashamed, she is angry. She cannot but help but reflect on the fact that she must marry, and marry well, and that wealth and independence can never really be hers.

She takes herself to her favourite bench under the sycamore tree and indulges her woes in reading _The Vindication of the Rights of Women_ , finding Wollenstonecraft's studied indignation a balm to her current mood. She is so lost in imagining herself as the independent heiress of Downton Abbey that she doesn't her Matthew until he is almost upon her. She looks up at him, still half-dreaming, and notices the piercing nature of his blue eyes. Eyes that seem inquisitive, firm and deeply determined. Determined? Why would Matthew look determined?

"Don't tell me that this is another scolding!" she exclaims, looking up at him defiantly.

"Not at all, Mother and I have come to tea. I saw you out here and thought I would say hello and escort you back to the house."

"And leave your mother to enter alone? Your actions smack of pity, _Mr_ Crawley."

"They are most certainly not. Why is it that I find you in such a mood? I thought after all this time, and my efforts with the entail, your ill feeling towards me had dissipated."

"My ill feeling is not towards you."

"Then I don't see why we can't have a pleasant conversation. Talk about the weather. Talk about the book you are reading. And if your ill feeling is not towards me, then what is it that makes you so prickly?"

"My life annoys me. Not you. Here I am stuck in a waiting room, waiting to be married. Having really no other use than that. I cannot do anything, be anything but a model of virtue and grace. I suppose to me you are a symbol of the independence I cannot have." She shrugs and looks away, aware that she has been somewhat more forthright with him that she expected to be.

"You know I wish I could change things for you, Mary."

"I wish _I_ could things for me, Matthew."

"You've never called me Matthew before."

"Don't get too excited. It is your name, is it not?" She turns a sardonic expression towards him, and looks him full in the face.

"Can we be friends, Lady Mary?"

"That is for the heavens to decide, Mr Crawley."

Standing, Mary preceded him to the house, her mood somewhat lifted. Matthew Crawley, who has in the duration of this conversation, actually started falling in love with Mary, has to stop himself from bounding into the house.


	5. Chapter 5

Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 5

 _This chapter stays pretty close to canon, mostly because I deeply enjoyed those episodes. Thank you to those who have reviewed!_

And so the weeks pass, and we find ourselves in the days before the Downton Flower Show. Mary's life has resumed its usual routine, and the competition between her and Edith has once more intensified. Edith, determined not to be outshone by her sister, has reached out to Evelyn Napier to thank him for his tact, and to tell him that he ought not to feel too badly about the Incident as it seems to have not had far reaching consequences. Evelyn has written back, grateful that the Crawleys do not think too badly of him. A steady, if not empassioned correspondence has sprung up between them. Edith is aware that it may not lead to a love affair, but the success of her instincts leads her to have more confidence in herself when entertaining male company at the house.

Therefore, Mary and Edith arrive at the Flower Show preparations with their grandmother with some sense ( at least on Edith's part ) of being equals. Mary watches with amusement as Isobel and Violet parry over the worth of the elder Mr Moseley's roses and wonders her grandmother regrets the friendship she had been showing Isobel lately. Edith walks away to attend to the stall provided by the Head Gardener of Downton Abbey. Mary hears a laugh behind her. She turns to greet Matthew.

"I am afraid that Mother is not used to having such an equal opponent as Cousin Violet."

"Granny could do with a thorough shaking down. But if you repeat that, I will call you a liar."

"Haha. Were I a betting man, I would put my money on Cousin Violet to pull the rug out from under Mother's feet."

"And that Cousin Isobel will remaining standing on the rug well after it's pulled away."

They laugh easily together, the camaraderie of friends. Matthew notes with annoyance that he wishes so very much for something more.

"What brings the Great Lawyer to our frivolous little flower show?"

"I'm interested in the village, in its highs and lows. I will be part of it one day, so this is work for me."

"Of course, the serious life of Matthew Crawley."

"I play too. I'm coming up tonight for dinner. I hear there is to be a big party."

"Oh, only some dreary neighbours."

" Well then, maybe I will shine by comparison."

"Maybe you will."

You'll notice that this is a little like the Other Story playing out on your screens. There will be points of intersection, of course, for this is still the same story, with the same characters, just on a different stage.

The party that night is Downton at its best. Sir Anthony Strallan is there, meant as another possibility for Mary. While Cora and Violet are pleased to see that Mary and Matthew are getting on, the friendship is not evolving fast enough for them. The hope is that Strallan's presence will stir Matthew towards a less gentle courtship. Violet is quite disappointed with Matthew's lack of direct courting of her granddaughter, but supposes that jocular friendship is how the middle class do things. _Tedious people._

Mary is not in the best of moods, having been instructed by Cora to pay attention to Sir Anthony tonight. Edith is in a worse mood, having heard Mary's disdain for her lack of charms. As always, with Downton, the stage buzzes with possibility. At dinner, Sir Anthony is seated next to Mary, and proceeds to enumerate to her the various new modern methods for farming large estates. Under close observation from Cora, Mary smiles and nods and does her best to look interested. She relieves herself with frequent glances to Matthew who sits on her other side.

When she is finally released, she wastes no time in engaging Matthew about his scheme for developing the cottages. They are halfway through discussing some ideas when Sir Anthony cries "Good Lord" and spits out his dessert.

Mary cannot help herself. She hides her face in her napkin, catches Matthew's eye and descends into giggles. When the ladies rise to go to the drawing room, the smile she gives Matthew contains, almost, something a little warmer than friendship. His company has made the dinner bearable. More than bearable, if she is honest.

Mary enjoys herself mimicking Sir Anthony to the delight of some of the ladies. Edith gives her a self satisfied smirk and basks under her mother's praise for taking care of Sir Anthony. Mary suddenly realises that Edith may well usurp her in the marriage stakes and turns cold eyes to her. She accepts her sister's challenge and , when the gentlemen arrive, easily claims Sir Anthony's attention. Edith, not to be deterred, crosses to Matthew and engages him in conversation.

Unfortunately our Matthew is not to be so easily swayed in the focus of his attention. Neither is he one to take being ignored very slightly. As soon as he can extricate himself from Edith, he makes his excuses and leaves. Turning to look for him, Mary realises that he has left and finds herself to be deeply distressed. Oh why can she never get it right? And oh how much it suddenly matters than Matthew be around! Of course, it is because he is youthful company, but she still feels a sense of loss.

Edith, in the meantime, has crossed to Sir Anthony and re-engaged him in a conversation about what modern farming means for tenant farmers who are more used to traditional models. Sir Anthony has had the most wonderful evening, the recipient of not one but two lovely young ladies. At the end of the night, feeling quite braced, and with thoughts of remarriage in his head, he goes home and resolves to see more of the Crawleys.

Our Mary is not a passive heroine. Troubled by her treatment of Matthew, and genuinely attempting some changes in characters following The Incident of the Turk in the Night, she wakes the next morning and pens her cousin her quick letter.

 _Dear Cousin Matthew,_

 _I hope you don't mind this note. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed your company last night. I must apologize for my behaviour in the drawing room. I had a rather silly bet going with Edith, and you must know by now that any chance to get the better of Edith is not a chance I can give up._

 _Do forgive me. You mentioned you would like to take me around the cottages some time. I'd love to take you up on your offer, if it I still may._

 _Your friend,_

 _Mary_

A reply comes in the evening post:

 _Dear Cousin Mary,_

 _There is nothing to forgive. I am glad to have been good company._

 _I am afraid I have little patience for parlour games, however._

 _Your friend,_

 _Matthew._

Mary admits herself to be a little stunned by the brevity and directness of his reply. She does not know that Matthew is as stubborn as she is, and perhaps a little too proud. It will make for a passionate marriage in the years to come, but for now she is simply taken aback. For the first time, Lady Mary is a little unsure as to what her next move must be.

She sees him at the Flower Show and decides to try once again. "Matthew, I'm glad you are here. I must tell you about the bet that Edith and I had-"

"Another time perhaps, for now I must take care of my mother."

Mary watches him walk away, and notes Edith's snicker behind her. "I'm so sorry Mary. It seems that not all men are charmed by you."

"I know that if I wanted to catch a man, I would stay away from those clothes and that hat."

On her walk back to the house, Mary wonders if she and Matthew will be able to mend their friendship soon. Certainly they will, but the mending may have taken longer had not Sybil's story intersected with theirs.


	6. Chapter 6

Simplify me when I'm dead – Chapter 5

 _Thanks to those who reviewed! It made me want to write a really long chapter! This is the scene with Sybil hurting her head at the byelection, but I don't have M and M kiss right away here. I rather want them to have a little longer courtship, where they move from barbs to friendship and a solid sort of falling in love. I'm eager to flesh out more vivid and grounded love stories, worthy of the three women in the story. But the kiss is coming, and it will be good_

A little light history. The years prior to the First World War highlight an important political period in British history. In the 1900s, the Boer War had strongly divided public opinion, and the cost and conduct of the war had raised the question as to whether Britain was still suited for Imperial rule. The Liberal party, situated itself as the anti-war party, and soon began to have political and reforming influence. While in government, David Lloyd George introduces a people's budget that would tax incomes above 5000 p.a. The bill is defeated, but it spurs public debate. The short lived Independent Liberal Party shows the working class that they can have a voice, and the Liberal party's election success finally pushes through reforms in the House of Lords. A certain hope for a more equal political system is sensed. 1911 brings the national insurance act to provide cover for sickness and unemployment. These were truly radical acts. In 1912, Irish nationalists proposed Home Rule for Ireland, causing Ulster Unionists to form paramilitary forces of opposition. A civil war in Ireland seemed likely.

Morever, the fight for women's rights was truly picking up speed. The men in parliament – irregardless of politics- did not feel that women should have the right to vote. As such, women like Emmeline Pankhurst gathered together to bring the women's movements forward. Some of these women hoped to use education and negotiation to take the fight forward. Others chose hunger strikes and more violent tactics to stage their protests. Women of all walks are part of this, but especially the upper classes from the daughter of an Indian maharajah to Lady Constance Lytton, an aristocrat.

Sybil Crawley is coming of age in these political times, and being rather independent of spirit, has educated herself as best as possible about these issues. She raises them at the dinner table, and her passion is greeted with the kind of indulgence that adults give to a teenager with a cause. She is heard and lightly dismissed. Sybil is not one to be deterred. Another important thing about Sybil is her willingness to engage in lives very unlike her own. She patrons borstal charities and local initiatives that help folk who are in workhouses, especially single, pregnant women. These are not well accepted or successful charities, but much needed. Robert calls them her 'dreary causes', but Sybil is undeterred. Blessed with an open mind and a free spirit, she is allowing herself to be formed by these experiences. Sybil Crawley is, therefore, interesting. Mary is our indomitable heroine and Edith is industrious, but Sybil Crawley is the one to go down in history.

Sybil doesn't exclude Downton Abbey from her earnest efforts. She has already struck up quite a friendship with the housemaid Gwen and the two are working hard together to find the latter a position as a secretary. Sybil has also slipped a few pamphlets on the situation of women into the servant's hall when Mr Carson was not looking. Her sweet and unassuming nature allows her to do this, and while Mrs Hughes has discarded the pamphlets almost immediately, Sybil dreams of a little light resistance below stairs. It should also be noted that the fact that Mary has had to play defense over an incident where she is clearly the victim, has only made Sybil more determined in her desire to be part of emancipatory politics. What Sybil really misses is someone to discuss these burgeoning ideas with her, and to help her develop them. Cue a certain Irish chauffeur.

"Gracious, " says Robert one evening at the dinner table, " I allowed the chauffeur to take some books out of the library and you won't believe the stuff the man reads."

"What is it Papa? He won't read the Bible like a good little boy?" Mary smiles and looks for Matthew to enjoy her joke. But of course Matthew isn't there, he has been keeping his distance.

"He's reading Marx and Engels and John Stuart Mill, I ask you!" Robert raises his eyebrows at the ladies, enjoying the light entertainment of having a political chauffeur.

"That is very eccentric of you, Robert, an Irish revolutionary chauffeur! Does he prefer Home Rule?" asks Cora

"Do you know, I haven't really asked. I don't think Carson will thank me for doing so!"

"Indeed, My Lord." The butler mentally resolves to warn the chauffeur not to have any political discussions with any member of the family.

"Oh but how interesting, I'd love to hear what he has to say! You know we have a by election coming up, and the issues that the Liberals are raising are really-" Sybil is alight with excitement

"Really Sybil dear, you should be focussing on your upcoming season, not the views of the Liberal candidate. We don't need another Emily Wilding on our hands."

"Taking an interest in politics hardly means Sybil will try to throw herself in front of a horse, Papa." Mary will always come to the defense of her little sister. It's an elder sister's prerogative, that.

"Crikey, yes, I don't see Sybil chained to a rail and being force fed semolina.", chimes in Edith.

The family is most amused, and the topic is closed for the duration of dinner.

Once in the drawing room, however, Sybil approaches her Mama with some trepidation.

"Mama, you know I was talking about the byelection at dinner? Well the Liberal candidate is speaking in Ripon two days from now and I would really like to hear what he has to say."

"Oh Sybil dear, your Papa will not like that, he will not like that at all. Besides, these things get very messy and I would worry for your safety. Why not just wait and read about it in the paper?"

"Mama, I am always reading about it in the paper, just this once, with Ripon being so close, couldn't I go?"

"Oh let her go Mama. I dare say she will find a way to sneak out any way." Mary raises her eyebrows at her sister.

"Thank you Mary, for your unsolicited advice." Things between Cora and her eldest daughter are still a little frosty. "Very well Sybil, you may go, for twenty minutes. Branson is to take you there and back again, and you will watch from the car"

Xxx

The next morning, Lady Grantham summons the chauffeur to her morning sitting room. She is struck by his earnestness and the intelligence in his eyes and feels somewhat more comfortable in entrusting Sybil to him. She gives him detailed instructions as to how she expects the day to go and dismisses him with a smile and a welcome. Tom Branson, who had rather expected a cold and forbidding set of folk, walks away both bemused and elated at this turn up for the books.

Lady Grantham returns to her letters but is interrupted by Edith.

"Mama, I have something that may trouble you just a little. You may not know but I have been corresponding a little with Evelyn Napier. This morning he sent me this, and I thought you needed to see it."

 _My dear Lady Edith,_

 _Thank you for your note and the recommendations for some fiction reading. I look forward to perusing these titles. My line of work has not allowed me to indulge as much in fantasy and fiction and I am glad that you will soon correct my ignorance of such worlds._

 _My letter today will deviate somewhat from Twain and Bradford, for I wish to bring to your attention a little development connected to the grief that was visited upon your sister Mary during my last visit to Downton. The version of the story as told by Mr Pamuk has, unfortunately, been heard in London. To the best of my ability I have dismissed it, of course, but rumour will out. It would, I think, have lesser impact if the gentleman concerned was not the source of the story itself. He is charming and well liked, and there are, I am afraid, many ladies who have enjoyed his company_ dans la chambre _who, whilst protecting their own reputations, will be able to pass the story on as more fact than fiction._

 _Mr Pamuk left England yesterday, and I took the opportunity to visit him and challenge his story. I hope that your family will not mind that I took such a liberty. Pamuk, I must admit, was a little apologetic on being challenged, and confessed to feeling some guilt. However, he did maintain that he felt a certain confidence in taking the steps he did as he was quite convinced of Lady Mary's attraction to him. It pains me to say that on this point, I could not challenge him. He also noted that his retelling of the story had simply come to mean to him nothing more than a little 'party fascination', something to keep the evening lively. I was deeply disgusted by this admission, and we did not part cordially. He is gone, and hopefully will soon be nothing but a memory._

 _I hope you do not mind that I have related this to you. I feel rather responsible that it was I who brought him to your home. Please do let your parents know that if there is anything within my power that I can do to assist with this situation, I will surely do it._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Evelyn Napier._

Cora stroked her forehead for sometime.

"Was I wrong to show you Mama?"

"Of course not. Thank you Edith darling. Please do not show this to Papa or Mary, I will tell them myself. Could I ask you to please send Granny and Isobel a note inviting them to tea tomorrow?"

"Certainly Mama. He is right about Mary's behaviour, you know-"

"Now is not the time Edith. I will also ask you to come back to this room after your errand to tell me all about your correspondence with Evelyn Napier."

When Edith has left, Cora lets out a long sigh. She looks at the books on her mantel, and says, almost accusingly to a volume by Miss Alcott, " You could have warned me."

Cora moves aside the letter she is working on and pens a friendly invite to Sir Anthony Strallan.

Xxx

Sybil has her day in Ripon. She is thoroughly excited on her way in, and cannot stop herself from engaging Branson on his views on the Liberal Party, the suffragettes and local politics. The find, in each other, lively and passionate conversational partners. They are both young and alive with idealism, and the conversation is spirited and free wheeling. The speeches in Ripon are not so. It is crowded and loud and messy. Sybil has disregarded her Mama and left the car, and Branson soon runs to her side and suggests that they go home. Isobel Crawley is also in the crowd, and seeing Sybil and Branson's distress, she too goes up to them and insists a departure. Only worry over Branson's position induces Sybil to leave, and her exuberance has her enter Downton with the most beatific smile on her face, a smile she carries through dinner.

At dinner, however, she and her mother are severely upbraided by her Papa for their actions, and a rather gloomy pall is cast over the proceedings. Sybil is in no mood to discuss things in the drawing room and retires early. She is, however, determined to catch the count at the by election, and wonders how she may do so. She bides her time, and, the next day, when Robert has come back from a walk with Jarvis, she approaches him to apologize. Robert has never been able to be angry with his daughters for too long, and he accepts her apology. She requests permission to be driven in to Ripon for a meeting of her borstal charity and is granted this. Of course, we remember what happens in the Other Story. The crowd is boisterous and itching for a fight. Sybil is injured and Matthew and Branson have to rescue her.

This time, however, they cannot take her to Crawley House, for Isobel, having gone to tea again at Downton Abbey has stayed to dinner. Sybil is taken back to the Abbey. Matthew goes in, first, and summons Mary. He explains to her what has happened, and they quickly take her to the small library. Mary calls for hot water and a cloth, and Matthew runs to fetch his mother.

Of course, Isobel arrives with the entourage of Robert , Cora and Violet. Cora almost faints and has to be tended to by Mrs Hughes and some smelling salts. Violet sits with pursed lips while Isobel skilfully tends to Sybil's wounds.

Robert is apoplectic. "What is the meaning of this? Who let her go! It's Branson! He shall be sacked!"

" Oh Papa, I truly don't think it had anything to do with Branson. I know Sybil was keen to go-"

"Truly Robert, when I came on the scene, he was trying to get her to leave, and was trying to calm the crowd. I just think it was an unfortunate event."

"I shall still speak to him in the morning. And thank God for you Matthew, you've quite saved the day."

Matthew doesn't really know how to react to this, but cannot help glancing at Mary for her approval and praise. The smile she gives him lifts him a few feet in the air.

"You must be tired and hungry. Let me get you some sandwiches. " Mary feels a certain duty of care, she is so pleased to see him after what has seemed like months.

Sybil, by now, has roused a little, and is given a thimbleful of brandy by Isobel.

"Sybil dear, are you all right? You should go to your room and rest, " says Edith, hoping to stop her Papa from any altercation tonight.

Robert keeps his counsel. For now. He decided to focus his attention on reviving Cora and helping her to her room.

Hazily, Sybil assents. "I'm allright, I'm allright. I will go up.. if you will help me." She looks with gratitude to Cousin Matthew.

He smiles. "Of course.", and proffers his arm.

Mary, returning to the library after ordering Matthew some sandwiches, is surprised and shocked at the sight of her younger sister, draped on Matthew's arm and smiling up at him. He smiles down at her, and the picture is just too intimate for Mary to handle.

"Goodnight Sybil darling.", she says, more so to call their attention away from each other.

Matthew looks up at her and notes the distress on her face. As he walks up the stairs, he smiles to himself. The look on Mary's face has given him confirmation that, if she is not in love with him, she is in very near danger of doing so. In all the little skirmishes that he and Mary have engaged in, he rather feels that he just may win the battle.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for reviews and comments. I'm seeking a beta, any volunteers? I actually like injecting some humour into these chapters. The years with the war will likely get a little bit murky. Enjoy, please review, follow etc._

Tom Branson spends an uncomfortable half hour that evening in the office of Mr Carson.

"The Crawleys are an old and noble family. Their children are our special responsibility, Mr Branson. We do not take them to political affairs where they may be the subject of scandal or hostility. Surely tonight you have seen the worst of what could happen!"

"I am so sorry Mr Carson. I did not know where I was taking her, truly." Branson is almost in tears.

"There now my boy. A lesson learned is all. Go into the servants hall and have some tea. Mrs Patmore has left you some bread and cheese.", says Mrs Hughes kindly. She cannot but help feeling motherly toward this boy.

When Branson has left, she turns firm eyes to Mr Carson, "Leave it be, he's suffered enough tonight and His Lordship is likely to sack him tomorrow."

However, his Lordship does not sack the chauffeur. Following a rather stormy morning with Sybil, he endures a stormy mid-morning with Mary and Cora and decides that while Branson is not to be sacked, he will still be disciplined. The poor man is dispatched to the Dower House, where he will spend a week driving round the Dowager. It is certainly a punishment, but one that is laced with Mary's own sense of humour. She is not sure who will come off worse. The revolutionary or her tight lipped Granny. She rather feels that it is the girls who are to be punished, for they will now have to contend with Pratt, who is certainly less easy on the eyes.

Branson does not leave the house entirely empty handed. The younger footman slips him a parcel on his way out.

A note reads:

 _Dear Mr Branson_

 _I must apologise sincerely for the trouble I have caused you. But thank you for being my comrade in arms! There, is that a socialist speech? I do not know enough of socialism, but perhaps you would be so good as to let me know what I should read? I did enjoy our conversation the other day._

 _Enclosed please find a tract on women in workhouses that I think might be of interest to you. Perhaps we may find some time to discuss it when you are back from your exile? Please send word through Gwen._

 _Your friend,_

 _Sybil Crawley_

xx

Mary, dressed for an afternoon ride, and wondering what Matthew Crawley does do on his weekends crosses to the drawing room in response to a summons from her Mama. She enters to also find Edith and Sir Anthony Strallan.

"Mary dear. Sir Anthony has just bought a new car, and is happy to take you for a ride in it. Would you like to?"

"Indeed, I would be happy to take either of the two young ladies, " Sir Anthony smiles jocularly.

Before Mary has a chance to respond, Edith speaks up " Actually I would love to, we don't often get to do much recreational driving!"

Mary glares at her sister, but is relieved. "There you are then, Sir Anthony. But do ask me again." With a nod to her furious mother, Mary leaves the room.

 _How ghastly! Is Mama quite serious?_ Surely her situation is not quite so desperate. She is so very glad to leap on to Diamond's back and have him carry her away from her thoughts and her family. She rides out a little further than usual, and comes across her father and Matthew standing outside one of the tenant farms. They are deep in discussion and poring over a large document. Her father seems so engaged and interested in what the young man is saying, and, as they walk away to the next cottage, Robert squeezes Matthew's shoulder with deep affection.

Tears prick Mary's eyes as she realizes that her father finally has the son he always desired. The son she could never be. She watches them walk down the pasture and makes up her mind.

Xx

Lady Edith Crawley and Sir Anthony Strallan are having a glorious drive. The sun is high in the sky, the birds are in the trees, and all is right with the world. Sir Anthony is beside himself to be in the company of so beautiful and obliging a young woman, and Lady Edith is happy to be taking the lead from her sister in this game of suitors.

"I haven't been for a ride in such a long time."

" Did you often go out very much?"

"Yes, and my late wife would enjoy outings just the two of us in a trap and pony."

" We always remember Lady Strallan kindly."

"She was kind. And funny too, although not everyone got to see that."

"It's really rather wonderful isn't it, the way two people can know each other in a way that the rest of the world cannot?"

"Why Lady Edith, you show a maturity beyond your years in saying that."

"Thank you Sir Anthony. I have the advantage of observing my parents and their happy marriage."

"Quite, yes. Then have you made a study of marriage?"

"Is that not what all fine ladies are called to do?"

" You know Lady Edith, you are quite funny too."

Xx

 _Dear Cousin Matthew,_

 _I did not thank you properly for taking care of darling Sybil. She is so very precious to me._

 _In return, may I offer my sincere friendship?_

 _Mary Crawley_

Xx

The Crawleys come to dinner at the end of that turbulent week. After a lengthy consultation following Evelyn Napier's letter, Isobel and Cora have an understanding that Matthew will be brought to dinner as many times as it takes. For good measure, Sir Anthony Strallan is also in attendance, but his inclination for Lady Edith's company has now left Cora with one less chess piece to play. She and Violet are considering other young men who can be invited to a house party, and Mary will soon be awash with suitors.

Mary sits quietly through dinner. Matthew has not replied her letter and she wonders if she has lost him or if his attentions have truly shifted to Sybil. Indeed, in the conversation before dinner, he had make special pains to inquire after Sybil's health.

Mary is not one to be beaten, and when the conversation turns to Matthew's work at the law firm, she cannot resist.

"They say that it is impossible to be a servant of two masters. Can you give your time to the soliciting and still have enough energy for the estate?"

"As I have said before, I have evenings and weekends. I am still Robert's student."

"And might I say that he is doing a capital job!" Robert, awash with a fine merlot is beaming with fatherly pride at his heir.

"Be that as it may, the Earl of Grantham is the custodian of his estate. He is its steward, he cannot have divided loyalties." Mary has the bit between her teeth.

"Do you think so little of my ability?"

" I am not questioning your ability. I am merely pointing out that being Earl is not a part-time thing, or a hobby."

"I am not the Earl, yet."

Mary opens her mouth to retort, but is stopped by Cora who directs the ladies to the drawing room.

Isobel has noticed the sparks in the air and is quite pleased at Matthew being brought out of himself in this way. Isobel, having enjoyed a marriage of equals, has a different idea of courtship than Cora does. Cora, however, rounds on Mary the moment the ladies are out of earshot.

"You are so rude to Matthew, Mary! And you were rude to Anthony Strallan earlier! I was so hoping you would have taken that ride with him."

"Oh Mama, could I have really wanted Anthony Strallan when I refused Matthew Crawley?"

"Do I detect some partiality to Matthew Crawley? Oh Mary, you know you need to be married soon.."

Mary walks away from her mother and sits on her own with a book. Sybil comes to sit by her. The sisters read in silence and Mary thanks the universe for Sybil.

When the gentlemen enter, Edith goes to Sir Anthony, and Matthew approaches Sybil and Mary. Sybil makes a quick excuse and goes to her mother, leaving Matthew and Mary alone. Matthew does not want to remain in any disagreement with Mary and rightly suspects the reason behind her anger at dinner.

"I am sorry I did not reply to your letter. Is that why I was upbraided at dinner?"

"I am glad that you received my letter. I did not expect you to have the good manners to reply to it."

"Don't do this with me Mary, my patience is at an end."

" _Your_ patience?"

"Why didn't you answer my letter?" Mary feels she has to know

"I didn't know what to say."

There is silence between them for some time. Mary has regretted her outburst at dinner, and decides to introduce some levity.

"I should have sent the letter with a warning. I think Sybil has quite a crush on you, you should be careful."

He smiles and looks at her with a smile. "Well at least that's something no one would accuse you of."

"I don't know." Matthew's heart skips a hundred beats.

"Don't you? Shall I remind you of some of the remarks you have thrown my way, not least at dinner?"

"I am an ardent social commentator. A critic. You shouldn't pay too much attention to the things I say, they are meant more to amuse me than anything else. Only a fool would take me seriously"

"Then I am a fool. Your opinion means very much to me."

Mary glances quickly at the earnestness in the eyes of this man who is quickly moving from dull to very dear.

"Friends?"

"Friends."

Isobel Crawley, keen eyed as ever, feels like ringing for champagne.


	8. Chapter 8

There are yet two months to go for the London season and Violet and Cora, while happy to see Mary and Matthew becoming friendlier towards each other, still need for Mary to be affianced before she goes to London. A small house party is arranged , and invitations issued mostly to known and eligible bachelors.

Edith has convinced her parents to invite Evelyn Napier, and while Cora is unsure, Robert feels it prove that nothing untoward happened during his last visit.

In no time at all, Downton is a flurry of activity as various members of the landed gentry descend upon the house. Carson is in his element, and has recruited Mr Moseley for some additional help. It is too early for a shooting party, but it is March and so a variety of picnics, rambles and outdoor sports are organized to keep the young men occupied.

The first to arrive is Tony Gillingham, a close friend of the girls from childhood, and he brings with him the racing ace Henry Talbot. A very quiet Evelyn Napier is accompanied by a young man called Charles Blake. There are a few others- men and women – who make up the party, but we are only concerned with the names listed here for the purposes of this chapter and also this story as it carries on. As we enter into the years of the war, they will come back into the lives of this family again.

Tony Gillingham is handsome in a rough sort of way and Mary has to admit that she never has thought of him as a husband. Not that Mary isn't open to anything else. Nothing is settled with Matthew, and while she cannot deny that she has feelings for her cousin, he has not intimated to her anything outside of friendship. A vigorous friendship, indeed, but Matthew has not suggested himself yet as a lover. Evelyn Napier has glanced her way a few times, but Mary notes that much of his conversation is directed towards Edith. Has she missed something there? When did Edith and Evelyn become friendly? Charles Blake just looks uncomfortable in his skin, but Henry Talbot now. If there was going to be a proper rival for Mary's attention this weekend, it was most certainly Talbot. He was handsome in the conventional way, but more than that, he had that je ne sais quoi that most sportsmen carry.

Tony, Charles and Evelyn, with their titles and estates are the most eligible options for Mary, of course. Yet, she cannot help feeling deeply intrigued by Talbot and he by her. _At least it will be a distracting weekend._

xx

Sybil is mostly annoyed. Tom Branson is back from exile and she is very eager to find a moment to speak with him, but with guests crawling all over the house, there is no moment when she can slip away. The two sons of the Duke of Merton seek her out immediately, and Sybil is obliged to keep them company all weekend. She is delighted, however, to find a little brown paper parcel in her room when she goes up to change.

 _Dear Lady Sybil,_

 _I am most obliged by your letter and gift to me. The tract made for inspiring reading. I attach some essays of Mr Marx from his time in New York. Please do not be alarmed by this choice. I hope you do not mind this humble gift. I have entrusted it to Gwen as you instructed._

 _With best wishes,_

 _T. Branson_

Xx

Edith is having a wonderful weekend. In attendance are both Evelyn Napier and Sir Anthony Strallan. At While it is certainly Strallan who has the priority of her affections, she has a friendship with Evelyn that she would certainly like to explore. During tea time, Robert notes with surprise to his wife,

"This weekend is for Mary, but it would appear that Edith too has suitors sparring for her hand."

"I know who I would prefer. Will Edith judge them sensibly?" Cora wishes she had a sign emblazoned with "choose E.N" on it.

"What's to judge?" joins Mary archly, "They're both as dull as paint."

Her Mama gives her a quelling look and Mary moves on to join in the conversation between Tony Gillingham and Charles Blake.

"I don't think I have much faith in the future of estates such as Downton in the foreseeable future. Truly I think it may well be the time for the aristocracy to start thinking of itself differently. ", says Charles Blake.

"Come now my dear chap. The aristocracy is the bedrock of British civilization. Like tea or scones or the royal family." Gillingham is a little shocked at his former army companion.

"You forget that I too stand to inherit a pile like this Gillingham. At the very least, the estate must be of use. The success of the liberal party is really due to the shocking conditions in which the working class find themselves."

"Mr Blake you sound a little too like Cousin Matthew, my father's heir. He, too, wants to change the estate so that it may be more 'useful'. Whatever that means."

"It means that we cannot live as if we are entitled to it."

"Aren't we? The Crawleys have held the fort for centuries. Surely we are entitled to something."

Gillingham laughs and is reminded of how much he has always admired Mary's wit. "That is true, Mary. You know it's been a while since I heard the history of the Crawleys. Maybe you can take me on a tour of the house tomorrow and tell it to me?"

"I will, if Mr Blake has not taken me to the guillotine by then. Some cake, Mr Blake?"

Blake takes the proffered pastry with good grace. "I shan't if you promise to introduce me to this wonderful Cousin Matthew."

Mary agrees to do so, and moves on to engage Henry Talbot in conversation. She spends an amusing twenty minutes being told of motors and oils and racing through France before the gong is rung and the company is dispersed for dinner.

While Mary is having a good time, her mind is still heavy with the last time Evelyn Napier visited. She talks to the young men and enjoys their conversation but does her best not to stay attached to anyone for too long. She feels so under surveillance, so cautious, so untrusting, even of someone like Tony Gillingham, who she has known for so long. She makes a mental note to see if Sybil will accompany them on their tour tomorrow. It does not pass her notice that she has no qualms in being alone with Matthew Crawley. And yet how she wished that Matthew Crawley did not always float to the top of her thoughts.

Xx

The first evening passes with little drama. On the next day, Matthew and Isobel join the party at the house for a country hike followed by luncheon. Isobel, it must be noted, is a little miffed. She had thought all along that the plan was to allow for Matthew and Mary to fall in love. As far as she could see, the friendship blossoming between them would surely, if slowly, reach its teleological end. She did not understand why Violet and Cora needed to invite all these eligible to Downton.

What she does not know is that Violet is a Field Marshall par excellence, and Cora an able and willing general. With the goal of Mary's marriage in mind, they are willing to send as many soldiers over the top as possible, until such time as the deed is done. They would prefer Matthew above all others, of course. They both like him, and it would make things so very tidy. But Violet and Cora refuse to take any chances. Robert simply prays that Mary will eventually see the sense of Matthew.

The hike proves of some interest for any keen observer. Sybil walks with the Merton brothers, and Edith alternatively with Evelyn Napier or Anthony Strallan. Mary chooses Henry Talbot as her walking partner. Matthew is deep in conversation with Charles Blake, but finds that every time he raises his eyes to search for Mary, her eyes are on him too. Matthew feels a certain kind of confidence. He knows he has won the girl, he simply needs to be patient.

Mary, however, is not sure. She finds Talbot refreshing. Indeed, he has no estate or title, and therefore isn't even an option for her. It makes for a conversation devoid of art and game, and Mary can let her guard down just a little and a young girl as she walks. Talbot is cursing his lack of advantages, because the beguiling Lady Mary has quite stolen his heart. If Talbot was the sort of man who wrote poetry, he would have composed quite a few sonnets by now, odes to her dark hair, her porcelain skin and so on. Mercifully, we are saved from all of that.

"Do you think we could stay in touch after this party is over?", Henry asks.

"I don't see why not. Don't expect me to turn up to a race or anything, but I'd be happy to read about your experiences. It really is quite thrilling, all your dashing around."

"You have my word. When do you get to London for the season?"

"Early I should think. My sister debuts this year, so we will be rather busy. I'd be happy to invite you to the ball, of course."

"I look forward to it. Might I reserve a dance?"

"Why not?"

They have caught up with Blake and Matthew by this time, and they listen in to the debate between the two heirs-in-waiting and rather revel in the fact that neither of them – Talbot or Mary- have to shoulder the burden of an inherited estate.

After luncheon, everyone retires to their rooms, for there is to be dancing that evening. Robert has engaged a band from Ripon and the carpets in the Great Hall have been rolled back in readiness.

Mary, Edith and Sybil dress with excitement. Sybil finishes early and runs to her mother's bedroom, hoping to catch her parents before they go down.

"Edith darling, what is it?"

"Papa, I wonder, might Sir Anthony have a few minutes with you after dinner?"

"Edith, has he proposed?"

"No, not yet Mama, but he said he has something particular to ask me, and wanted to know if I could secure him a few minutes with Papa."

"That sound promising. Is it your intention to say yes, Edith?" Robert half hopes that Edith will answer in the negative. However, Edith feels great affection for Sir Anthony, and, besides, he is the first to ask. Poor Evelyn! He has hoped for one of two Crawley sisters, but loses one to a great love and the other because he was not the first to propose.

Edith only smiles at her parents and goes to join her sisters in the drawing room.

At dinner, Mary is seated between Talbot and Matthew and has possibly the best night of her life. This is a good thing, because the announcement that Edith and Sir Anthony make later that evening galls her a little bit. Surely, it should be Mary to be the first to be engaged?

She does not have enough time to dwell on this as Robert soon announces the dancing and Mary is kept busy dancing with the various young men. Evelyn has returned his attentions to her, and insists on the first two dances. Mary finds Charles Blake an excellent partner and feels it is rather a shame that he is almost a socialist underneath it all. Henry Talbot, however, is the most agreeable partner and Mary finds herself flirting and enjoying his company very much, they dance much of the evening together. That is, until she catches Evelyn Napier's eye and has a sudden memory of Pamuk. She asks for a little rest and finds a chair by her grandmother.

"If it were up to me, dear, I would pin my hopes on Tony Gillingham."

"Hope is for someone who has no cynicism Granny."

"Oh Mary dear.. do not let your experience stop you from living. Hmm, well I see hope coming towards you."

"Mary? Will you try the dull boy around the room?" It is Matthew, and the band strikes up a waltz. Matthew does not have the sophisticated styles of Blake or Talbot, but Mary feels secure in his arms.

"What a fine pair they are." says Robert to Isobel. Watching them from the sidelines, it is safe to say that Robert and Isobel are the main cheerleaders for successful conclusion of this love affair.

Edith and Sir Anthony dance the night away, in the manner of the newly engaged. Truly Sir Anthony has felt his years falling away tonight and he can hardly believe that this delightful, intelligent young woman has agreed to be his wife. He is full of goodwill to all the world and wishes that all the young people in the house find love tonight.

Matthew twirls Mary around and brings her back gently into his arms. " Will you join me on Monday to go to the outer farms? Blake has given me a few things to take note of."

Mary almost laughs at his prosaic request. "Very well. If only to ensure that you do not scare the poor tenants."

Cora and Violet sit together and consider the evening a success. After all, with so many young men around, Mary has still ended the evening in Matthew's arms. Not only that, whenever Mary was not at his side, Matthew's eyes kept searching the room for her. The addition of other suitors is always a good way to get a little fire started.

That night, Violet sleeps soundly, conscious of a match well made.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello. I do have to get back to marking and my research so I will just post the next chapter later tonight and give you another 10 next week. Thanks for your reviews, so encouraging. My apologies for any typos, I will have some time for editing next week. On with the show! This chapter is a little fluffy, mostly because things get a little dramatic in the next two._

"Golly, said Sybil, "this corset's quite tight. Couldn't we loosen it just a little bit?"

She looked down at the dressmaker who was supervising the final fitting on her debutante gown.

"Start of the slippery slope," said Edith, examining a length of silk, " you want to look your best, Sybil darling. Besides this is only the beginning."

"Hmm. Larry Grey told me he is really looking forward to your season, " laughed Mary, enjoying teasing her little sister.

"Oh no, not Larry. He's just a friend."

" When he was at dinner the other day he certainly wasn't looking at you in a friendly way. _There's another, not a sister."_ The sisters' peals of laughter brought their mother in from an adjoining dressing room.

"How rare it is to see my girls getting along. Oh Sybil, you look beautiful. Are you looking forward to your season?"

" _London is the capital of shops and of speculation, the government is made there. The aristocracy inscribes itself there only during sixty days, it there takes its orders, it inspects the government kitchen, it passes in review its daughters to marry, and equipages to sell, it says good-day and goes away promptly - it is so little amusing that it supports itself only for the few days called the season"_ quoted Sybil smiling at her mother.

"Goodness who is that?"

"Sybil is reading…Balzac?" said a surprised Mary. Let us not forget that Mary is very well read. More out of a need to maintain her own superiority, perhaps, but she is well read regardless.

"What made you pick up Balzac?" asks Edith.

"Oh he was referenced in…by another author."

"Which other author?"

"You know… I can't remember."

"How interesting," said Mary, " you can quote Balzac from memory, but you cannot remember who recommended him?"

Sybil is an equal match for her smirking elder sister. "You never told us how your tour of the cottages with Cousin Matthew went."

"Well, " said Cora, "peace reigned for five minutes. Come on girls, we must get back before the gong. Thank you Mrs Norridge, I think a last fitting next week and then we should have everything packed? If you speak to Mrs Hughes she can arrange to have everything sent on to London directly."

As they leave the store Mary whispers to Sybil "You will tell me, darling. You know you can't hide from me for long."

"As you cannot hide the smile that is on your face, _darling._ "

Xxx

"Hello!"

Smiling, Mary walked across the grounds of Yew Tree Farm towards Matthew. It is towards evening and the farm is closing down for the day. Mary has replaced Robert as Matthew's partner in touring the estates. The past few weeks have passed in relative harmony. I say relative because, they are both strong minded people, and every conversation contains little frissons, a few disagreements and enough sparring to upstage Violet and Isobel. They have argued over books and Boers, dinners and Dowagers and any other thing you could list.

"I thought we were meeting at Berryhill."

"I know, but I finished a little early with Mama and thought I'd catch you up. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I have been talking to old Mr Drewe about how he introduced diversity to his stock. I have so very much to learn about farming. Do you know how much it costs to feed a pig?"

"I know that pigs can eat many things. I do know that the Drewes have farmed here since the Napoleonic Wars."

"Mary, sometimes I feel that it should be you giving me the tour, not the other way around."

"Well, that's not to be. You are the Destined Heir."

"Ah, I sense some implied capitalization. The thing is, you do know so much, at least you've been around the estate enough to have a broad idea. Have you ever cared to educate yourself a little more about tenancy and the kinds of farming that are done here? Perhaps the best methods and the needs for food production?"

"Why would I have? Patrick was to take over, and now you."

"Don't be that way, Mary, I know it's not how you think."

"I'm serious. I learned to run an establishment. But yes, there are some things that I know, or have guessed at. I'd need more study and time to really understand. Besides, Jarvis will always be there."

"I don't know. The more I learn, the more I cannot shake the feeling that we may need to … have a little more control, a few tweaks in how the estate is managed. Is the estate making the money it could?"

" Jarvis will not thank you for that question. Neither will Papa. Papa would find profit mindedness to be rather crass."

"It doesn't mean it isn't a good question."

"Did I say that? I'm just advising you, Cousin."

"Thank you. When I am Earl, I'd like to be a little more than a benign dictator – not that I'm saying that Robert is- I just think we could reap a little more benefit from the land. Be of more value to the country and to the house. "

Mary smiles at him and his plans. She strokes his arm in a friendly way, and Matthew has to take a few deep breaths.

"You've certainly made a success of the cottage scheme. Papa is very pleased."

"I hope to be a success as an Earl. When I marry, I hope to have a wife who works with me on the estate as an equal partner, who shares in my ambitions."

Mary looks at him for a long time, and motions that they should continue walking.

"why are you quiet Mary?"

"I was reflecting that you are sometimes so young."

"I'm older than you."

"I mean you hold no pessimism…realism,… for the future."

"And you hold this realism?" She is a little ahead of him now, and he has to put his hand out to stop her. "Have you no high plans for this estate?"

She feels a little cross. He knows that her future may not be at Downton.

"Downton is not my future."

"It could be… and even if it isn't don't you want your home to be a success?"

"I can't afford to care about Downton. I have to be open about my future. I don't know where I stand with regards to Downton, do I?" the statement is meant as both petulance and challenge.

His hand is still on her elbow, and as she turns to him crossly, she moves just a little closer into his arms. Matthew Crawley finds himself to be a little overwhelmed. She is so close to him. Sensing an atmosphere, Mary releases herself from his grasp and walks a little forward towards the pig pens. Matthew walks quickly after her, and reaches for her hand.

She looks up at him, her gaze steady .

"Oh Mary."

It happens so quickly. It happens without plan. (All the best kisses do). He claims her mouth with his and pulls her into a commanding embrace. Lips meet lips and Mary and Matthew surrender to the kind of kiss that causes the Earth to shake. Matthew can hardly believe it. Her lips are so soft, so searching, her body so pliant against his, her tongue so perfect in his mouth.

Mary sighs against his mouth. _Gracious, who thought the dull boy could kiss like this?_ There is all of the thrill of Pamuk's kiss and none of the fear, the revulsion. She feels almost heavy with emotion and desire. She also enjoys the effect that she is having on Matthew. It is wonderful to be able to disassemble someone like this.

A pig snorts. Well, if you choose to have a passionate kiss by a pig pen, at some point one of those esteemed animals will snort and bring you out of your clinch.

Giggling – Lady Mary giggling!- Mary breaks free from Matthew and looks at him with an expression of lust and amusement. (You think the two wouldn't mix, but there is enough hilarity in lovemaking, thank the gods.)

"Mary- I've been wanting to say- for so long now-"

She raises perfectly shaped eyebrows.

"Goodness Matthew not here! Among the pigs! If you're going to ask me, you have to ask me properly."

"I'm willing to kneel by the pig pen."

" I am not willing to answer by the pig pen! Ask me properly, tonight. Come to dinner."

"And when I ask you, what will you say?" He has her hands in his.

"You have to ask me first, Matthew Crawley." But she is smiling, and so is he. Even the pigs sense a certain something in the air.

But here is a good lesson to learn. When someone asks you to marry them, let it be done and asked and answered, because leaving things for a bit will cause you to think. For all Mary's poise and archness, she still feels plagued by this : am I good enough for him?


	10. Chapter 10

_I am so chuffed by all your reviews. You are so kind! Just a couple of notes. I've moved things up about a year (1913) because I want some of the relationships to be more established prior to the start of the First World War, and for the time before the war to be . It gives the relationships and arc this way I think. So obviously Sybil is a year older than canon. By this time, though, Mary and Matthew have known each other for at least a year, so their time as close friends allows for a more natural progression ( I hope). WW1 began on July 28 1914, so from now ( late April 1913), it is a relatively short time in the fictionverse. On with it, then._

Edith sat in the library surrounded by papers and magazines. You may think that her engagement to Sir Anthony happened in a bit of a rush, but consider who Edith is. As the middle sister, who lacks some of the fire and verve of Sybil and Mary, she is very aware that the way for her to build her own identity and truly be free is through marriage. It does not mean that she does not love Sir Anthony. Indeed, Edith, who never quite had her full share of parental love and affection, receives a certain fondness from her fiancé that has been lacking in her life. Sir Anthony, being a man of maturity and reflection, is also able to draw her out and solicit her opinion without feeling overly threatened by the fact that his wife has a brain. Edith finally feels valued, and the confidence that her future husband has in her will allow her to be a force for good in the county.

For now, though, Edith is a bride to be, and not a little overjoyed to have crossed the finish line before Mary. With her Mama quite focussed on Sybil's debut and Mary's lack of a fiancé, Edith is quite at her leisure to plan around her wedding. They have decided on a September date so that the family has had time to recover from their time in London, and so that enough focus can be had on the wedding preparations. Edith is also having to think quite differently of her social season. As the future Lady Strallan, there will be people to meet and a few parties to oversee with Sir Anthony. She wished she could have a little time with her Mama for advice on hosting, but is resolved to muddle through somehow. Edith feels herself teetering on adulthood, and truly cannot wait.

As she puts down an article discussing the merits of a full lace trim on a bridal gown – _really who writes this?-_ Edith notes her elder sister rushing in from the garden. She notes with satisfaction that Mary's boots are simply covered in mud. She also notes that Mary seems very happy. _Cousin Matthew has proposed, hasn't he? Nothing else would make her smile like that. So Mary is to have her Countess' coronet after all._

Edith feels a wave of bitterness. Mary's engagement will upstage her completely, and now they will both be ladies of the same county. Edith wonders if it is for the best, she is not sure what will drive her if she is not to be in competition with Mary. And yet, she cannot stop herself from resenting the fact that her parents will want to ensure that Mary is married soon, and that Mary is married with all pomp and circumstance. As Mary has also noticed, Edith also knows that in this past year, Matthew has become the son that Robert always wished for. The rejoicing over this marriage will be almost too much to bear.

Willing herself to accept it with good grace, Edith rings for a bracing cup of tea. Truly, tea is not to be taken lightly in an English household. It is the elixir that allows us to keep calm and carry on.

xx

"Mama, are you free?" Mary walks into her mother's bedroom.

"Well I daresay Carson is about to ring the gong, but I have a few minutes before O'Brien comes up. What is it?"

"I've asked Matthew and Cousin Isobel to dinner."

"Have you? Better tell Carson. It's not like you to make a last minute addition."

"I've told him. I need to speak to you Mama."

"Yes?", Cora, sensing what is coming, does her best to keep her face from bursting into smiles.

"Matthew is coming tonight to speak to Papa. And to me."

"Oh my dear, has he proposed?"

"No, but he is going to."

"Oh my darling, I will not pretend that this isn't the answer to all our prayers! Granny will be so relieved, she thought she'd have to do it for him! Oh, it's all going to work out. Will you say yes? I think you love him."

Mary allows herself a little slip in her mask. She feels close to tears. "I do. I think I've loved him for longer than I knew. I am so happy. So grateful. He is so good to overlook my silly behaviour with Pamuk."

"You've told him, then?"

"What do you mean, have I told him?"

Cora stops and considers. You will remember that they had conspired to keep Matthew from any of the rumour and difficult questions arising from The Incident, just so that the journey to the proposal would be less one pothole.

"Mama, how is it that Matthew does not know that Pamuk came to my room uninvited? I thought he didn't mention it because he was too well mannered to do so. Mama, what have you done?"

" We just thought- Granny thought- Granny, Isobel and I wanted you to come together without too many obstacles."

Mary's eyebrows rise so high they are in danger of disappearing into her hairline.

"The answer to all your prayers? Or all your manipulations? Oh well done, Mama. What was that house party, then? Another little part of your game?"

"Oh Mary don't be ridiculous. We were quite happy for things to run their course, but you would be silly and flirt so outrageously. We had to move things along, if we could."

"This is your prejudice Mama. You think it is my fault that Pamuk came to my room that night."

"I have not said that Mary. I want you to be conscious of your behaviour. Already the rumour in London is that you are not virtuous. "

"The world is changing."

"Not fast enough, and not fast enough for you."

Mary knows that this is truth. She is quiet for some time.

"I resent that you have manipulated Matthew in this way."

"Will you tell him?"

"Musn't I? He needs to know the truth. About me, about the machinations of his female relatives. I won't catch him with a lie, it's not how we are together."

Any further conversation is stopped by O' Brien's entrance into the room. Not that it would have mattered. O'Brien has been listening outside the room for a few minutes, already, and only the consciousness of Her Ladyship being late to go down has pushed her to enter the room.

O' Brien wishes the Lord would transform her into a footman, for the evening promises to be a year's worth of entertainment.


	11. Chapter 11

_My apologies, this will be a longish chapter and I hope I did it right._ _People are asking how Matthew did not know about The Incident of the Turk in the Night. As I said before, a ring of steel had been drawn round it by the Elder Crawley ladies. In addition to this, Matthew has never struck me as someone who indulged in gossip. Rather, he got on with his work. Neither would the family have been willing to discuss it at dinner._

Sybil has had a terrific day. Not only was she able to help Gwen smuggle in a typewriter under the very nose of Carson, she also ran into Tom Branson. They spoke fleetingly- just for a few minutes- but it was enough time to confirm her enthusiasm for the reading material he had sent her, and to secure his promise that he would accompany her to a bookstore the next time he drove her in to Ripon. There is a boldness and brashness about their friendship, because they are both young and idealistic. Sybil sees the world outside of hierarchy just delights in the ways in which the world is opening up for her. She wonders in what other ways she could strike out and embrace the world.

xx

Violet Crawley turns up the driveway just as Sybil is going back into the house. She slightly disapproves of the happiness emanating from her grandchild. Not that Violet is against happiness per se, she just feels that exuberance is folly. This is the problem with Cora being American, she reflected. The sentimentalism was likely to rub off on one of the girls. _Dreadful thing. I should have Sybil spend more time with me in future._

As she descends from the car, she is helped out by Branson who has come out to speak with Pratt.

"Good evening milady." He smiles at the old lady, of whom he is rather fond.

"Ah Branson, good to see you. " The Dowager is really quite genuine in her greeting. She wasted no time in interrogating the man during his week with her and, while concluding that he did adhere to some dangerous ideas, was satisfied that his engagement was well-read and intellectual. At the very least, the Dowager was convinced that he would not set fire to her in her bed. The Dowager is a snob, and a feudal from top to toe, but she is, above all else, fair. With all his talk of change and profit, and his ability to _affect_ that change, she currently found Matthew Crawley to be of a greater danger than a chauffeur who read Marx.

Of course, she felt that what Matthew needed was a more temperate hand. _He would not be so zealous if he weren't encouraged by that mother of his. That woman simply runs on indignation and righteousness._

While she was pleased to draw Isobel in to the Great Matter, the latter's inability to understand the outreach to additional suitors had left Violet wondering if she had not made something of a mésalliance. She resolved that it was time that she- the Dowager- took a more active hand in Matthew's training.

Satisfied that she had a few new schemes lined up for the family, the Dowager went into the drawing room and informed Carson that she would be staying to dinner.

Xx

It is a truth universally acknowledged that nothing stirs action more than an understanding of how the system has formed you into their own creature. Mary felt a need to defy the Althusserian assumptions of the structure she was within. She did not see herself as an arbitrary piece within the totality, but a key driver. Something in the altercation with her mother has 'cleansed' Mary from the shame of The Incident. Anger is a good thing. Anger cleanses, and in the case of Lady Mary Crawley, it means that she is ready to take the proverbial bull by the horns. Rosamund Painswick may have all of the Dowager's snobbishness, but the true heir to Violet Crawley is Mary.

Dressed in the impeccable red that has all heads turn to her when she enters a room, Mary slips down to the library, hoping to catch Matthew as soon as he arrives. In the library, she finds an unpleasant surprise. Anthony Strallan, who now comes to dinner almost every night, is ensconced on a couch with Edith. _Goodness, look at her simpering face,_ thinks Mary, _I wouldn' t be so happy if I knew I was to be tied to that old booby for the rest of my life._

Mary isn't meant to be the soul of charity, dear readers. We love her despite who she is. Or perhaps because of who she is.

"Ah Mary!", cries Sir Anthony, addressing her with the familiarity of soon to be family, " how wonderful. I took the liberty of coming early so I could present dear Edith with a little token of my affection."

Mary's eyes glance to the glittering jewel resting on dear Edith's hand, and, wanting not to be predictable, is all grace and smiles.

"How simply marvellous, Sir Anthony! You've brought such a smile to Edith' s face. I am so pleased to see how you cherish her."

"Why, Mary, what a gracious speech. Did someone put something in your tea?" Edith is nervous.

"What a strange thing to say, my dear. I'm sure Sister Mary ( Mary has to keep from rolling her eyes at this endearment) only wishes to partake in our joy."

"Of course. Thank you Mary, dear. Shouldn't we go to the drawing room? I think I heard Papa come down, and Carson warned me that Granny has been in there for some time."

"No doubt rearranging Mama's flowers. I'd make haste if I were you. I'll follow you soon."

As she leaves, Edith turns to glance at her sister at almost feels a kind of pity for the naked emotion that is on Mary's face. Of course, her pity is short-lived, but with these two sisters, we have to take what we can get.

Xx

As Matthew steps in to the entry way of Downton Abbey, he has a newfound appreciation of the house. He can see the future before him, he and Mary, and their children. His rosy thoughts are heightened when the subject of his dreams comes into view. Before he can speak, Isobel has crossed to Mary. I cannot say that Isobel considers Mary to be the ideal daughter in law. She often finds her to be too off hand. However, Isobel is quite sure that Mary is the right person to be his partner as the Earl of Grantham, and it is too clear to Isobel that Matthew loves Mary.

"My dear Mary, I am delighted to hear the happy news." With some exception, there are few secrets at Crawley House. If you wish for intrigue, look to the Abbey.

"Cousin Isobel, it is not happy news yet. There are still a few things to talk about." Something in Mary's tone puts Isobel on her guard.

"Of course. It's important to have everything discussed.", she says noncommittally.

"Matthew, I wonder if I may have a word before dinner?"

But it is too late, Carson has announced dinner and they are hustled into the dining room, lest the soufflés go flat.

As they sit down to dinner, Cora raises worried eyes to Mary. That young lady pretends not to notice her mother and casts a cool look around the table, finally resting on her grandmother who is regaling Sir Anthony with a story about her tour in Russia.

"What was the most important lesson you learned from the Russians, Granny?"

"Lessons? I wasn't on a study tour my dear. Who travels abroad to learn?"

"Travel fortifies the mind, they say. I only wondered if it was the Russians who taught you all about palace intrigue."

" I daresay they showed me that we English our correct in keeping away from high emotion."

"Ah. Then perhaps you made a study of the court of Versailles. Although, the high stakes and strategy of chess come from the Indian subcontinent, doesn't it? Did you ever travel the vast regions of the Empire, Granny?"

"Mary…" warns Cora.

Violet ignores Cora and turns expectant eyes to her granddaughter.

"There is nothing I dislike more than a game of cat and mouse, my dear. Either present to us your issue boldly, or restrict your comments to the weather and the excellence of the fish course."

Mary's smile is bright and takes in the whole room. "Doesn't Mrs Patmore make an excellent salmon soufflé? You really must congratulate her Carson."

The Dowager takes this on the chin, and remarks airily to Sir Anthony, " Mary was always the brightest of my grandchildren."

An almost imperceptible shift has occurred. Robert idly wonders if he ought to tell Carson to shelter the good crystal. Cora feels a need to act. She is seated next to Isobel, and, under cover of the clearing of the plates, she whispers,

"Mary is aware that we may have kept some things from Matthew. She feels it important that he not be deceived. I am afraid this is going to cause a rift between her and Mama."

Isobel smiles, and suddenly feels quite quite certain that Mary is the woman for Matthew. She is happy to note that Mary is note quite cut from the same cloth as the Dowager.

"I will not stop her if she chooses to tell him."

"Will he take it well?"

"Oh he may sulk for a while, but it may work out for the better." With this, Isobel smiles across at Mary.

Isobel's hopeful face calms Mary and she is silent through dinner. Oddly, Mary feels no rancour towards her probable mother – in – law, she is bristling against Violet and Cora and their handling of her. When the ladies rise at the end, she motions to Matthew to follow her.

They take themselves into the small library, but not before the Dowager has had a chance to clock where they are going.

In the drawing room, the Dowager turns on Cora immediately.

"Out with it Cora, and now."

Cora looks at Isobel pleadingly.

"All I can tell you is that Matthew is here tonight to propose. Mary found out that.. perhaps…we had tugged a little at the strings of this courtship… and she feels a need to clear the air. You know Mary, she doesn't want to be the pawn."

"Foolish girl. What is the matter if the end result is the same?"

" I think the problem is that she loves him." Isobel smiles at the Dowager.

"Love is always a double-edged sword isn't it? The practical option is always so much better, at least we all know where we stand. Mary, thankfully, has more sense than sentiment."

Isobel is flabbergasted.

Xx

In the small library, our would be lovers stand awkwardly, gazing into the fire.

"I know you wanted me to ask properly, darling, but shouldn't I see Robert first?"

"I'm not sure I want you to ask. I wonder if it would be the right thing."

"If I may remind you, not quite four hours ago, we gave each other some very good proof as to the contrary." He draws her to him.

Mary wants nothing more than to just sink in, but she steels herself.

"Have you ever indulged in such 'proof' with anyone else?"

"A few kisses behind the bushes, but they didn't mean anything. Is that what is troubling you?"

"No, no. I just…need to know that we aren't conforming to the fitness of things. We will be married to each other for 50 years – at least- and if it just dissolves into duty… Well I would have married Anthony Strallan if that's what I wanted. Tell me, when you flirt with me and pay court to me… are you doing it because it is the tidy option?"

"You sound like Cousin Violet. Yes, this is the tidy – as you say- way of things. But surely, we have spent enough time together – and enough time warring with each other to see that this is something more than that? Did you feel this way about Patrick?"

"Good God no."

"I don't understand what has happened since we saw each other last. To me it is very simple, do you love me enough to spend the rest of your life with me?"

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is that simple." Matthew grows a little angry. His hopeful dream of the evening is falling into ruins.

"Matthew, we fight quite often. We're almost fighting now."

"For no good reason, it seems to me."

She places a hand on his lips. "Darling ," he thrills to hear the word on her lips, " I don't want you to ever think that I don't love you. I'm just awfully practical."

He laughs. "I'll suffer through it. I promise."

"You shouldn't give me such leave to make you suffer." He laughs and kisses her softly.

"There is something else you need to know. I don't know if you recall a dinner where we hosted Evelyn Napier and a Turkish Diplomat."

"Very clearly. I think it was the night I knew you were in my heart."

"Don't be sentimental. I… that evening.. I was quite swept up by Mr Pamuk."

"I recall."

" After dinner, he followed me out to the hall and kissed me. He asked to come to me that night but I refused. Somehow, I don't know how, he found his way to my room that night. He came in, and he wanted… he wanted me. My fear overcame me and I screamed, so he left. Papa had him sent to the Grantham Arms. Since then he has spread a rumour in London that I am not virtuous. If you marry me, Matthew, you will marry someone who is a little tarnished."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, no. "

"How do I not know about this?"

"That's the thing. Mama and Granny found a way to keep it from you. They didn't want to keep you from proposing. They wanted everything to be tidy, and the rumours only hastened their need for me to be married off. I'm sorry Matthew, I only found this out today."

Matthew considers quietly for a while. "Why did you tell me?"

"I wanted there to be no secrets between us. And , Matthew, I almost let him into my bed that night. I did…desire him. "

This last is harder for Matthew to hear, for all the very simple and direct reasons.

"Why? Did you love him?"

"It was lust Matthew. Am I too fallen for you now? Am I Tess of D'Ubervilles to your Angel Clare?"

"Mary, you did nothing wrong. Pamuk should be hung in the town square for forcing himself on you. That is not what bothers me. It is the secrecy of it all that troubles me most."

"For the sake of full honesty, darling, I must tell you… I do love you, but I am aware that some of that love comes also from my love for Downton. I belong here."

"Then don't you think we are very lucky that we do have love between us? And a shared goal for the future? That is so much more satisfying that duty."

"I did behave shamefully."

"A gentleman would not have taken advantage of a lady's inclination. And that is an end to it. Besides, if it wasn't for my need to have some self-respect, I'd be behaving shamefully around you…"

Mary laughs a long and cleansing laugh.

"I don't deserve you."

"Can I have that in writing?"

He clasps her hand. "What shall we do about the conspirers?"

"Oh I shall have it out with Granny, make no mistake."

"No, I have an idea. I like what you are saying about honesty and knowing each other, about a little untidy-ness. What would you say to a long engagement? I feel we have been good friends for some time, but I never really courted you, did I Mary?"

"I can fault you on that score yes. I do feel devoid of sonnets and pretty flowers. Anthony Strallan has certainly surpassed you in terms of romance. But, how would the long engagement help us with Granny and Mama?"

"Let us say, it will be because we will walk down the aisle on our terms, after a romance that we have owned. We can get to know each other outside of an estate tour. And you forget my darling that you will be the wife of a country solicitor for a while before you are a Countess. It may be wise for you to get to know my kind of life a little. I dare say your practical nature will need that. Then we can be absolutely sure. Besides, it will be good to keep them waiting. What do you say?"

"Why is it that you can never ask me properly?"

He clasps her hand and goes down on one knee.

"Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honour of being my wife?"

"Yes,"

Xx

Robert gives his consent readily, and he and Isobel are besides themselves. The clause of the long engagement bothers Violet and Cora, but the former is quite sure that she can speed that timeline up a little. Mary is half-hoping that her Granny will try to meddle, because Mary, being Mary, is quite itching for a fight.

The long engagement is good news for Edith as well. It means that her wedding will not be overshadowed by Mary, and that she can settle into her life as Lady Strallan before Mary is crowned the aspirant Countess of Grantham.

And Matthew? He knows now that what he has is not just a lover, but a true partner. For him, the future rises again in rosy hues.


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you for reviews and welcome to followers. Just a note that I essentially post up as I type, so I will be going back to edit/refine sentences and clarify a little bit here and there. Yes this will be a long story, but hopefully not too mawkish. I think my plan right now is to take them up to the brink of ww2 and then stop there. It's been fantastic to just let my imagination go. Thanks for reading! A quick note that there are some titles and so on included below. Obviously , they are all mostly made up or similar to real ones. For e.g, the Earldom of Oxford was made dormant in 1703, revived with the Earldom of Asquith in 1711 and then extinct from the late 1800s until revived under a different moniker in 1925. So I've begged and borrowed a little, but the point is it isn't meant to reference real people._

With the pace of the script of the Other Storyteller, let us place our hand on the fast forward button and take ourselves to July, at the height of the London season. We enter into the ballroom of a large and fashionable London house, where the guests are arriving for a grand party. See the young debutante, newly minted and attending her first ball. She glances, wide eyed, at the gentlemen coming in. Which one, she wonders, will catch her eye? Is her future in this very room? See the young Lord lounging lazily by the fire, more interested in the fine cut of his suit that any available young lady. See the clutch of hassled Mamas, strategically eyeing the room, the young women now on their second or third season mostly hoping to get it all over with, and the Papas seeking the card room.

Mable De Vere, Countess of Oxford, took in the room calculatingly. With the great lady's permission, let us enter a little into her thoughts.

 _Elizabeth Mortimer is here, clasping her husband's hands like a silly schoolgirl. I always thought she was rather too much of a flake to be a serious wife. Goodness knows what he sees in her, such inappropriate behaviour. I wonder what the Duchess of Asquith looks so very pleased about. I wouldn't be too happy if my husband kept the hall boy in his bed and never came into mine. I am glad to see the Harclays, Colin was so sure that all that estate trouble would keep them away. I must try my best to spend some time with Lady Ruth before I go home. She's always well in the know about things. Gracious, Susan Flintshire is looking old. Well Susan Flintshire has always looked old. Quite a pruny baby, if I recall. Oh dear, why are there so many more Americans every year? Ghastly people. Although, I must tell Bertie FitzCharles. Some American doubloons may be just the thing to see them through the next few years, and that daughter of his is getting to a rather wilting age._

Delighting in her own wit, Her Ladyship waves across the room at her daughter -in – law, and goes to her. Susan MacClare, Marchioness of Flintshire walks past her with a polite smile and spots her Aunt Violet coming in.

"Ah Aunt Violet, I've been hoping to see you. We're so sorry not to have come to the at-home at Grantham House last night. Shrimpie had to work quite late, as usual."

"We managed quite well without you. Sybil did so well today. Oh she is such a dear girl. Shall we find somewhere to sit, away from the madding crowd?"

Violet and Susan steer themselves to a table in the inner room.

"Cora wrote to me about Edith's engagement. Isn't Anthony Strallan at least as old as me?"

"Yes, but Edith seems very keen. She may not do very much better, and Locksley is a fine old house. Your Uncle Charles often enjoyed the hunting out there."

"And Mary is to be settled as well…to the lawyer."

"To the heir of the Earl of Grantham. Don't be snide, my dear. Your mother could never carry it off and neither can you."

Susan is not to be deterred so easily. It is the subject of Mary that has had her seeking out her aunt.

"Shrimpie and I were at a soiree at the Turkish Embassy in April."

"Did you? That sounds dreadful." Violet's face is completely serene.

"It was quite interesting actually. The cultural attaché told me the most amusing little story."

"I've never enjoyed foreign tales. I always thought Ali Baba and his forty thieves ought to have done away with Aladdin in a more final manner."

"The setting was a local one. Had he known my connection to the family, I don't think he would have been so forthright, but it would appear that one of his countrymen had visited Downton."

"Yes, a bit of a rogue I hear. A rather unstable young man, at least Robert thought so. Told some rather tall tales at the dinner table. But at least he made an amusing dinner guest! Robert said he could certainly sing for his supper!"

Susan looks directly at her aunt, who returns the stare with determination and authority. Surrendering to the fact that her aunt is a formidable opponent, Susan decides that perhaps the better target is Cora.

"Well. I thought it might interest you, but as you say, you've never enjoyed foreign tales. If you'll excuse me, I will need to see that Anabelle hasn't overheated herself. She always does let herself getting carried away."

The Dowager twitches her cane. She rather wished she were a cobra so she could spread her hood and scare off her smirking niece. Susan had always been a bitter child, and now she was a sour adult. It would not do for a member of the family to spread the story around. The Dowager squares her shoulders and raises a silent cry of vengeance against all Turks, past, present and future.

Xx

Mary and Matthew enter the room together, one of their first proper society outings as a couple. The girl inside Mary is deliriously happy. To be in London with a man she adores, sure of her position as Countess of Grantham. It is truly a dream come true. She does note the odd look or two given in her direction, a titter, a smirk. She clings to Matthew's arm, knowing that her engagement to him may have helped dispel some of the issue. Matthew always makes her feel secure, but she feels annoyed that she is so reliant on that security. Mary's problem is that she does care very deeply what other people think of her. Matthew is not oblivious to the titters and the snide smiles. It only makes him less endeared to the class that he now belongs. He is tired of artifice but knows he must play his part. _What is it that Cousin Violet says? Life is a game in which the player must appear ridiculous. Very well, I shall be Pedrolino._

"I'm afraid we are in the eye of the storm, my darling.", whispers Mary, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Well you are a storm braver, if ever I knew one." He squeezes her hand and smiles roguishly.

"Then let us seek shelter. I see Charles Blake coming toward you with determination. Perhaps he has finally managed to mobilise the revolution. Ought I to hide my jewels?"

"Don't be flippant. I think Charles is the man to see estates like ours into the modern age. I'm thinking of asking Robert to take him on as a kind of consultant."

"You never told me this… Oh hello Charles, how lovely to see you."

"Hello Lady Mary, Matthew. I thought you might like some reinforcements. I've seen Lady Grantham, but where is the rest of the family?" If truth be told, Mary has been keeping herself a little apart from her family since the spring, hence her choice to arrive at the ball independently of the family.

"Edith and Anthony are at Hilton House tonight, dining with his relations. They may come later. Mama and Papa should be here soon. Sybil felt a need of a long rest after this morning's exertions."

"Well I hear she did fabulously. I am looking forward to her ball. And Matthew, is your mother not here?"

"I am afraid there are very few things that would induce Mother to attending the full season. She will be here on the weekend for Sybil's ball."

"Lovely. Before I forget, I hear you are both to be congratulated. I wonder why a more formal announcement has not been made?"

"Oh we didn't want to steal Edith's thunder."

"Of course, come and join my table, won't you? I've got Henry Talbot and Lord Asygarth, so we can be sure of a diverse conversation. I know you hate to be bored, Lady Mary."

"Is Mr Talbot here? How lovely. I did promise him a dance while I was in London.", and Mary smiles to think that her ardent pen pal will be another friendly face.

"So Talbot is to have the first dance is he, o betrothed?"

"Don't fuss, darling. You won the prize." Mary smiles at her fiancé coquettishly, and proceeds towards the table.

Watching them, Charles Blake wonders at the difference a loving match can make. Perhaps, he too, ought to follow his heart.

Xx

It is a little later in the evening, and Cora is enduring a rather uncomfortable twenty minutes with Susan. Spinning and spurring with an expertise that would have impressed Violet, Cora is slowly wearing down.

"Oh Susan! Enough. Don't you know Mary well enough to know that the story can't be true?"

"I do know Mary, my dear, and she has always been unpredictable."

"The truth of it is is that he did go to her room that night. But nothing happened, she screamed and alerted Robert, who threw him out."

"So he did go to her room? How did he know where her room was?"

Cora falters. " I don't know. But with a man like that, I am sure he has his ways. Oh Susan, we're family, can't I rely on you not to give this story any more credence? Mary is so happy with Matthew, everything is tidy now."

"Nothing is settled till the Vicar has pronounced them, my dear. You know as well as I."

Xx

In the car ride home that evening, Cora is terribly silent. Robert, having spent the whole evening listening to Shrimpie's account of the details of the _entente cordiale_ between England and France is feeling hopeful. Perhaps the stories of rumblings of war are just rumours. He wonders if he and Cora should take a little trip to the Continent in the new year. It would cheer her up.

"At the risk of sounding like Mrs Bennet, I wanted to spend the evening crying 'Two daughters engaged!' ", he laughs and looks to his wife, who manages a weak smile.

Sybil is silent too. While she enjoyed some of the drama of the court and all of the dancing of the evening, she is coming to a slow realisation that she wants something of a different life. She feels all to aware of the waste and purposelessness of their way of doing things. Also, her corset is jolly tight.

She says goodnight to her parents and heads to the library. The library at Grantham House is a little more up to date than the one at Downton and she means to seek out a book for Branson. It has become quite a little game between them, trying to surprise and delight each other with books and pamphlets. How she wished she had more time to actually sit and discuss things with him. Perhaps the time had come to organize a reading group in the servants hall. Giggling suddenly at the thought of how Carson's eyebrows would quiver at the idea, Sybil collapses into an armchair and loses herself in some Thoreau.

Xx

"Cora, tell me, are you unwell?" Robert slips off his bedroom slippers and prepares to join his wife in bed.

"No, darling. I spent much of the evening with Susan. That is all."

"Well that'll do it. "

"Robert. You must speak to Mary and Matthew about making a formal announcement. She's not even wearing a ring. I don't like how in flux this all is."

"Don't be silly. They're mad for each other. I like that they want to take their time."

"Mama doesn't like it. I don't like it. Things can change in a long engagement. Mama is hoping to.."

"Mama is hoping to what? You know I don't like too much meddling. I'd forbid it if I could but the last time either of you listened to me…"

"Oh don't be self righteous Robert. Didn't you see how people looked at Mary? She hasn't had half the invites she received last year. Matthew is still middle class in everyone's eyes, we must support them. We must support Mary. Their status is tied to Downton's future too. "

"Of course you're right, " Cora has played the right card, " will no one rid us of this pestilent Turk?"

"Robert."

"I'll speak to Matthew in the morning."

Xx

A half hour's walk down the Mall, a handsome young gentleman checks into the Savoy.

"If you'd be so kind as to arrange for me a late dinner. And perhaps some quarters for my man? I am afraid he doesn't speak any English." He smiles winningly at the concierge.

"Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Perhaps some company, for after dinner? You can arrange?"

"Certainly, sir."

Ding Dong. The Turk is back.


	13. Chapter 13

Sarah O'Brien is bored. When you are an A grade schemer, the lack of melodrama in one's life can leave you very bored. Thus far, Lady Mary has not been too affected by the story of Mr. Pamuk, and the engagement of the aforementioned young lady to that nobody from nowhere seems to have quieted the scandal. Even O' Brien's letters to certain ladies maids has not been too far reaching . Neither was there the face -off she was expecting between Dowager and Countess-to-be. It all felt rather anti-climatic. Even worse, her comrade in arms, Thomas, has quite gone off of the Mary story as he is so very preoccupied with the overthrow of the crippled valet. O' Brien feels entirely capable of handling multiple intrigues at a time and feels at a loss as to why Thomas can't divide his attentions. Oddly, Her Ladyship has not been forthcoming with information, either. Sitting in the servants hall at Grantham House, and sewing delicate lace cuffs onto one of the Countess' shirts, O' Brien plotted her next steps. Across the table from her, Mr. Bates is writing a letter. If she squints just so, O'Brien can just about make out the salutation and one or two lines. _Dear Anna. Dear Anna! Love's young dream, I don't think._ _What else does he say? His Lordship is worried about her Ladyship? I cannot see the rest. I shall have to get it out of her this evening._

"Mr. Bates, I wonder if I might prevail upon you to help us as a footman this evening? I know it might be a little difficult, but with Lady Sybil's ball, as well as Sir Anthony and his sister coming to tea, it's all hands to the pump." It is Mr Carson, quite in his element with the rush and bustle of a high society evening. The Duke and Duchess of Somerset are in attendance and the prospect of senior nobility has Carson as giddy as a schoolgirl at her first dance.

"Of course, Mr Carson. I may need to take a rest or two, but you can count on my assistance."

O'Brien snorts.

"Do you have a cold, Miss O'Brien?"

"My health is perfectly fine, Mr Carson."

"Thank the Lord, Miss O'Brien, Thank the Lord. "

 _Not any Lord of yours,_ thinks Miss O'Brien.

Xx

Tony Gillingham is also bored. I can't quite say that he is bored. More that the gentleman is feeling peevish. He had hoped to have made an impression on Mary Crawley, but shortly after his visit to Downton had come the news that she was engaged to Matthew Crawley, who, as far as Gillingham could tell, had spent the evening talking about production cycles with Blake. At the Camden's ball last weekend, she had seen how close she had become to Charles Blake and Henry Talbot, and wondered why he had not succeeded. He had felt too shy to go and join them at their table, even though Charles had beckoned to him several times. _Perhaps I presented myself too eagerly as a lover._ Either way, his mother was rather happy that nothing had come of it, for she had heard that Mary was not quite _virgo intacta._

"Buck up Gillingham, is this about Miss Fox or Lady Mary? You're as cheery as a dyspeptic poet.", his cousin, John Foyle, waves a hand at him.

"Neither I'll have you know. Do you have the list of the runners?"

"I do, and I met this Sampson chappie who rather thinks the bet should be on Secretariat, the Prince of Wales' horse."

"And so I did. My cousin is an aide-de-camp to the Prince and gave me a tip. How'd you do? I'm James Sampson." And here is Mr. Sampson, just beginning his career as a card shark and general man about town. With him, is a gentleman that we all know quite well. "May I present Kemal Pamuk? We met over breakfast at the Savoy."

"Good to meet you gentlemen."

"Pamuk? Haven't I heard your name before?", asks Gillingham

" I was here several months ago on diplomatic business. I was aided by a young gentleman called Evelyn Napier."

"Oh how excellent. I dare say I will meet Napier this evening, I'm off to Grantham House for the ball of Lady Sybil Crawley."

"The Earl of Grantham? Why they so kindly put me up during a hunt I attended in Yorkshire."

"Then you must come with me. It will be a jolly surprise."

We must excuse Tony Gillingham. For one, he never quite listens to his mother when she is regaling him with gossip, and for two, most of London only knows that it was some 'foreign chappie' who took the maiden's virtue. The English attitude towards foreigners can always be relied upon to lump all alterity into homogenous groups. Thusly, Gillingham is not to know that Pamuk is the Turk in Question. Kemal Pamuk shall go to the ball.

And besides, like I said, the Granthams were written for drama.

Xx

Lillian Chetwood is not bored. As she sits to tea with the Earl and Countess of Grantham , and her prospective sister -in-law, she is deeply impressed with her brother for his choice of an intelligent and engaging wife. She had had a few concerns because of the gap in their ages. Besides, Lillian Chetwood was a peer of Cora's and, to her, Edith was very much a child.

"Well Edith, have you thought about any plans for Locksley? The gardens are in need of a redesign, and there are a few rooms that have been shut up since my dear Mama died. I'm afraid Anthony and Frances travelled so often that they never quite made full use of the house."

"I have been thinking about the gardens, actually, but I really wouldn't want to step on Mr Howard's toes. He does exquisite things with perennials."

"Indeed Lillian, I mean to have Edith quite involved with some of the needs of the estate. She has an excellent knowledge of modern farming methods?"

"Does she?" Robert seems pleasantly surprised at this.

"We have so many ambitions between us, Anthony and I. Life seems very full." It must be said that Edith is now very very much in love with her husband. "In fact, I have been thinking of writing to the Times about the future of estates ahead. From the point of view of the aristocratic woman."

"Oh Edith darling, " exclaims her Mama, "that sounds like a wonderful idea. I'm sure I could think of a few things you could say."

"Is it a good idea? Strallan, I suppose Edith is in your jurisdiction now." Poor old Robert, he doesn't mean to be a stick-in-the-mud. In his defense, he has had a rather trying morning attempting to get Matthew to change his mind about the long engagement. He could not believe the obstinacy of his heir.

"I can't say I am against it, Robert. It is the first I am hearing of it, but I dare say Edith will do a capital job. I look forward to reading a first draft?" Sir Anthony, as I said, was Edith's champion.

"Of course. It is you who gave me the idea after all, when you mentioned that I was able to provide you with some insights you hadn't heard before." Edith smiles widely at her fiancé.

"My brother, a muse! "

And Lillian Chetwood drank her third cup of tea with great anticipation. The next Lady Strallan was clearly going to be drastically different than any who had come before her.

Xx

Sybil enters the large hall at Grantham House with a certain level of excitement. She adores dancing, and is assured of having many of her young friends in attendance tonight. Additionally, she managed to get her maid to draw her corset strings quite loosely. She claims a cup of punch from the tray in Thomas' hands and goes to greet her Grandmother.

"Hello dear. Carson, do you have extra candles on hand, in case the electricity goes out? Cora never thinks of these things, she always expects there to be endless fun!"

"Every eventuality has been accounted for, your Ladyship."

"Good, good. Now Sybil, dear, you have done well this week and this is the final hurdle. Do you have any names on your dance card as yet?"

"Granny, you make me feel like a prize cow. I'm opening the dancing with Papa, of course, and then I will dance with Matthew, and Anthony, and Uncle Dickie."

"You cannot dance with your sister's husbands and widowers all night. Who are the young men?"

" You're incorrigible Granny, don't look at me like that, yes you are. Oh, well Larry Grey insisted, and also Henry Nevill and James Montagu."

"Larry is as wicked as his mother, and Henry Nevill will mean Northamptonshire. I'd concentrate on the Montagu, Dorset has much to recommend it, and it's a longer standing title."

"Won't you stay by my side all night Granny, so I will know who to refuse? I wouldn't want to mistakenly dance with someone who's title only hails from 1800."

"Impertinence is not an attractive trait, young lady. Now there is your Mama, we ought to get ourselves ready to greet the horde."

Xx

The ball is well on its way, and Carson is pleased to note that the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, having only said they would stay an hour, have now stayed two. He almost feels an urge to pirouette. He notices Thomas eyeing the young Montagu with undisguised lust and the urge to twirl dissipates. Carson does not have any problem with Thomas' inclinations, so long as he doesn't act on them. He throws a heavy browed frown towards the footman, who quickly settles his features into an emotionless mask.

Cora is also pleased. Not only is Sybil soon to be a darling of the London set, but she feels generally buoyed by the good natured congratulations of her own friends. Like all Mamas everywhere, Cora feels the sense of accomplishment of having two daughters well on their way to being settled. Besides, Mary has been a model of good behaviour tonight, not dancing only with Matthew, but also with guests who need accompaniment and special hosting. She has also ensured that Matthew has danced with the wives of men who will be important to his future as Earl. She feels a sense of deep pride in her eldest.

"Good evening , Lady Grantham, I must apologize for being tardy, we were invited to Londonderry House to dinner. You remember my cousin John Foyle? And, I hope you don't mind, I have brought along a guest. Well, he is, known to you, I think."

Cora's face, while pale, forces itself into a smile.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Pamuk."

"What the de-" Robert has turned to greet the new arrivals and stops short staring at Pamuk.

"Robert, darling, I am sure you remember Mr. Pamuk. Won't you please go tell Mary that Tony Gillingham is here?"

"Certainly. Help yourselves to punch." Robert spits this out and goes searching for Matthew and Mary. And possibly a ring of steel and a machete.

Cora points the men towards refreshments and makes haste to her mother-in-law. "Mama, Pamuk is here. I am afraid Robert will do something stupid."

"He won't. You forget that he has impeccable training. We must all act as if nothing is amiss. He is just another guest."

"But Mary…."

"Mary will be fine."

Mary is not fine. Mary is angry. _The impertinence!_ _Oh and Tony Gillingham, so pretty, but so empty headed._ She looks for Matthew and sees him- as usual- in animated conversation with Charles Blake.

"Mary, dear. It is perhaps best not to make a scene. I will see if I can't get Gillingham to leave early, find someone for them to escort home. Why don't you and Matthew just keep to a quiet corner."

"I shan't make a scene Papa. He is in my home, I won't be made uncomfortable."

Robert leaves to consult with Cora and Violet. On the way, he also nods to Carson who has already seen the new arrival and is at full attention.

Mary draws herself to her full height, and in that moment she is truly magnificent. Moving towards the side of the room, she begins to make her way towards Matthew and Charles. As she passes by the door to the outer hallway, a hand slips round her waist and pulls her out to the partially secluded vestibule.

She shakes herself free and holds herself against the wall. "What do you want, Mr. Pamuk?"

"You tried to make a fool of me."

"And you indeed did make a fool of me."

"We could have had so much pleasure, Mary."

She holds his gaze with steely-eyed resolve.

"If there is no substance to this conversation, I ought to go back in."

"You dismiss me, don't you? You English snobs. How many of your fine ladies have I had simpering and writhing under me. What makes you different Mary Crawley? You did not desire me?"

I must say that Mr Pamuk is not wholly bad. No one really is. He is a seducer of the highest order. Mary Crawley's spurning of him is unusual, and makes him almost obsessed with the conquest.

"My desire, Mr. Pamuk, is for you to leave me alone. "

He has come quite close to her now and she can smell him, the musk of him, feel the heat pouring off his body, see the exquisite cut of his face. And the malevolence in his eyes.

"You bastard.", says a low voice.

Matthew's fist flies out with little technique, but meets its mark. As Pamuk bends with the blow, Matthew shoves him against the wall. Mary stares at her fiancé and feels a rather incongruous spike of arousal. She'd really rather have handled this herself but it is awfully attractive to see her dull boy roused like this.

But Pamuk is stronger that Matthew and, when he recovers, he soon has the heir pinned to the floor.

"Stop this, stop this at once." It is the Duke of Merton, first out the door of the hall.

A small crowd quickly begins to gather, and from it, Evelyn Napier and Charles Blake rush to keep the two combatants apart. Robert is shaking with rage.

"Pamuk, get out before I call the constabulary. Be assured that you are not welcome in any house of mine hereafter. Mary take Matthew upstairs and clean him up. Gillingham, I think you're a damn fool. Everyone else, get back to dancing."

And with this, Robert rushes to placate the Duke and Duchess of Somerset. There will be social embarrassment, of course, but at least it feels like the matter is settled.

Evelyn Napier and Tony Gillingham pick Pamuk off the floor and escort him out. Gillingham reflects that it is really not his fault, but he feels quite distressed to have caused Mary any harm. Evelyn Napier is just happy that he finally gets to redeem himself.

Charles Blake helps Matthew up. Mary, who thought she would be overcome with shocks, feels strangely calm. It has all concluded within the space of fifteen minutes.

"Charles, why don't you take Matthew up to the little sitting room? He knows where. I'll follow you with some brandy." She kisses her fiancé on the cheek. "Well done."

Thomas offers to fetch the brandy. Besides, Miss O'Brien must be told without delay.

"Well, " observed the Dowager Countess of Grantham to the present Countess of Grantham, "we wanted to change the story."

Humming delightedly, she allowed the Duke of Merton to lead her in a waltz.

Xx

As for Sarah O'Brien. Tonight, she is certainly not bored.

Xx

The next morning, the waiter bringing room service to Mr. Pamuk's room at the Savoy, finds the man stone cold dead. The doctor concludes that cause of death is a weak heart exposed to a high level of stress and anxiety. Perhaps, like Lady Mary, Mr. Pamuk, too, cared very much what people thought about him.

Mary reads of his death in the paper the next week and cries a little to herself. She cannot think of him without revulsion. Mostly because of his advances towards her, but also because, in the brief time before the incident, his glances and flirtations had also given her a kind of sexual awakening. He was the first man she had ever felt direct desire for. Somehow, the whole saga has left Mary with a much greater understanding of herself.

And so finally the chapter closes on The Incident of the Turk in the Night, and also the first part of our story.


	14. Chapter 14

_There is a lot of fluff in this episode. I can't help it, I've had a grapefruit and that always puts me in a rather good mood._

On an early September afternoon, in the charming village church at Downton, Lady Edith Crawley, second daughter of the Earl of Grantham, became Lady Anthony Strallan. The church was awash in sunlight, that mad, glorious light of early autumn, and the bride, soft and youthful, was graced with the beauty that only comes in moments of true happiness. The groom, still shocked beyond belief that she was willing to take him on, was beside himself. He had wavered when she came down the aisle. Something in the Dowager's eye caused him to wonder if he was truly doing the right thing. But then, when Edith reached him and raised a smile to him full of confidence and hope, he discarded his doubts and willed the vicar would speed through the process.

"Oh isn't she really lovely?", said Mrs Edwards the butcher's wife as the village gathered to watch the bride and groom process back to the Abbey.

"Not a touch on Lady Sybil, but I dare say expensive silks and feathers would make you look like a vogue model.", replied her friend the irrepressible Mrs. Wilson

"Oh be kind Margie, she's a sweet gel. She ain't uppity like the other one." And Mrs Edwards nodded towards Lady Mary, now taking her seat in the second car.

"Well, we all know that Lady Mary isn't as good as she ought to be. They may have shut up the story of that Turkish fella, but we know what she's like. Poor Mr. Crawley, expect they've saddled her to him without even a proper by-your-leave."

"I don't know about that. My Beth, who works at Crawley House, says he's quite moony over her. They're always sitting in the gardens locked together."

Bursting into giggles at the thought of the very serious Mr Crawley being 'moony', those two ladies hurried off to their kitchens. Gossip was gossip, but their husbands wouldn't thank them for not having tea ready and laid out.

Standing a few paces behind them, Mrs. Hughes frowned. She could do nothing about the two ladies, but Beth knew better than to gossip. She'd have to have a quiet word with Mr. Moseley after the wedding breakfast. At least before Mr. Carson got wind of her loose tongue. Poor Beth wouldn't survive a two hour lecture on the proper comportment of a servant in a great family.

Xx

Awash with the joy of dancing, fine food and congratulatory speeches, Robert saw his daughter off with happiness and a little sadness.

"Well my dear, who will look after us in our old age now that Edith is married?" he turned to his smiling wife.

"Goodness. I don't know. We shall have to care for each other."

Dropping his voice a little, the Earl whispered, "I must admit the thought gives me some pleasure."

Looking up at him, the Countess noted a spark that she hadn't seen in a while.

"Perhaps an early night tonight, darling?"

"Yes," he said, kissing her hand, " an early night."

Mr. Matthew isn't our only moony Crawley gentleman.

Xx

"Are you happy, my sweet one?" asked Anthony Strallan of Lady Strallan.

"Perfectly. Wasn't it funny that Sybil caught my bouquet? I rather thought that Mary would jump for it, but she stayed clear away."

"I dare say, with their long courtship she didn't want to chance her luck. Do you know why they are delaying?"

"Matthew says that it gives them time to know each other, but I think, for Mary, the real reason is that she is in a bit of a silent war with Mama and Granny."

"Heavens, such formidable foes. Do you think Mary has the strength for that?"

"She thinks she does. Let's not talk about Mary and Matthew. Are you looking forward to Venice?"

"How did you know I was taking us to Venice?"

"We both know I am much smarter than you, dearest. Actually, Lillian told Granny, and Granny has been some pithy remarks about water in the streets. She needed to have the last word, I suppose."

"Then let us bring her back some rubber boots."

Roaring with laughter, they sped off into the sunset.

Xx

Exhausted from a day of honouring Edith, Mary left the hall and made her way to the folly in the inner gardens. She slumped against a pillar and revelled in her solitude. She closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath, dismissing herself of the port and cake of the afternoon and taking in freshly cut grass, late blooming lavender, and.. soap? Soap.

She smiled. "Hello."

"Hello." He kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Careful, people might say we're in love."

"Well, wouldn't that be the most outrageous lie.", laughing and pulling his fiancée to him, Matthew Crawley kissed her with a passion that would have set Mrs Wilson all a-twitter.

Xx

Sybil Crawley was also feeling passionate, but also in a markedly different manner.

"Cousin Isobel, are you leaving? Might I walk down with you?"

"Branson's bringing the car round for me. You're welcome to come with me if you like. Matthew has to stay on to go over some things with Robert."

"Oh thank you. I just wanted to ask your advice. Oh, thank you Branson. Mr. Carson, would you tell Mama I will be back before dinner?"

"Certainly my lady. Could you please send Mr Branson back as soon as you reach Crawley House? We need to send some luggages over to Locksley."

"Of course." Sybil waited till they were a little way down the drive before turning to Isobel. She was not unaware of the glance from the chauffeur that she received through the rear-view mirror. It made her a little more confident in her request.

"Cousin Isobel, the whole time we were in London and preparing for Edith's wedding, I have been wondering about my life, and the direction it should take. I've been reading so many different books lately and I think what I really want is to expand my horizons a little."

"In what ways do you propose? There are lots of worthy charities in the Yorkshire area who need a patron."

"Yes, but I already patron quite a few charities. I want to be involved, to be a working part of it."

"I'm not sure you would be allowed to take up a profession."

"You did. Weren't you a nurse?"

"I was, but my circumstances are different. But I would like to encourage you in this effort. I think it is a wonderful urge. Do you have an idea of what you would like to do, or what particular work you'd like to know more of?"

"That is why I've come to you. I've been reading a lot about the conditions in which people are living and the kinds of diseases that are about. I know that this isn't popular information, but I have been told of the veracity of it from…a close friend ( Branson smiles widely to himself.) I rather thought I could learn how to minister to these issues from a health perspective. And conduct my own informal research if I were to train as a nurse."

"I commend this Sybil, but training as a nurse is taking on a kind of vocation. You would also need to speak to your parents about it, so you need to be quite quite sure. Why not come down to the hospital once or twice a week and give us your time as a volunteer? You can shadow the nurses and perhaps help me in my work as the almoner. Does that sound like a good start?"

"That would be wonderful, Cousin Isobel. I'm bursting! Do you suppose we could keep this a secret until I am sure? Mama won't ask any questions about me volunteering at the hospital, and Dr Clarkson won't betray us."

" Perhaps, for a short while. Until you are sure. Maybe, just to help you along, you could ask the household staff to give you a few pointers on basic living? Cooking, making tea, sewing on a button? I'm afraid you'd need to know how to make tea if you are staffing a ward."

"Oh, that would be delightful."

Mr. Branson suddenly feels very passionate too.


	15. Chapter 15

**Many thanks for reviews and followers! You make me wish I could send you all some delicious baking.** **On with the show.**

 _Albergo Del Senato_

 _Rome, September 25 1913_

 _Dearest Mama,_

 _Well here we are on the last leg of our ramble. I'm sorry to have been such a spotty correspondent, but we have been really enjoying ourselves out here._ _It was delightful of Anthony to suggest that we take on Rome and Florence as well, and I was so glad for the Baedeker you bought me! Florence really is a place to fall in love, and we have done that in spades. We have exhausted ourselves with opera and museums and art, I feel quite full._

 _I had some time yesterday to pick up little gifts for you all. I miss Downton very much, even Mary. Won't you all come to dinner the Friday that we are back? I will write to Granny and Cousin Isobel so that we can be a cosy family party. Oh do say that you will, Anthony has a nephew coming to stay and I would like the reinforcements!_

 _When we go back I will have my hands full with Locksley. I must start planning the gardens, and getting to know the staff. Anthony only ever used two or three rooms, so I shall I have to take a tour and see what needs to be cleaned and changed and spruced up! I shall miss you very much when I take this up, Mama. Do you suppose I could steal you for_ _a day?_

 _Anthony_ _has been teaching me to drive, which I think will be jolly handy._ _I'm wondering if I should buy myself a little motor when I get back._ _Do you suppose Papa will howl at the moon if I do so?_

 _I wish we could stay here for the general election. Italy is so awash with politics and passion. At dinner last night, we met a diplomat from Greece and had a rather fascinating conversation about the deep divides in the Continent._ _It's odd to think that, we, in our little corner of Yorkshire can be so removed from all of it. There's no escaping it here._

 _With all my love,_

 _Edith_

Xx

 _October 15_ _th_ _, 1913_

 _Downton Abbey_

 _Well my dear DB,_

 _The papers say that the weather in Manchester is most foul and I am glad. Since you think it all right to leave me here and seminar with lawyers and other legal men, I take some comfort in the fact that you do it whilst battling force gales. Although, I must admit, I thoroughly enjoyed Granny's face when Isobel told her you were away at a conference on conveyancing. I rather think she has you down in her books as The Irrepressible Heir._ _Papa has been teasing her that when you become Earl, Downton will be turned into a conference center. Poor Granny. Grandmamma is still here, so she is fighting a war on all fronts._ _I think there is a war between Isobel and Mama looming as well, some palaver over the Church Bazaar proceeds. It's all quite vexing,_ _and not a little boring._

 _Speaking of Grandmamma, she is threatening to stay for Christmas. I don't think Mama will survive it. I do love Grandmamma, but she can be quite critical of Mama. While the weather is good, I rather think I should suggest she go visit her sister's daughter in Exeter. It might give us some respite._ _Promise me, darling, that we will find a way to ensure that departure dates for visiting Mamas are always pre-negotiated._

 _We were all at Locksley to dinner again last week._ _You see why I am glad you are battered with weather! Edith is so smug at the head of the table. I know you wish for me to be charitable, darling, but really._ _The Nephew is still there as well, and is quite sweet on Sybil. Poor chap, he has no chance at all. Sybil barely notices him, she's so very wrapped up in her books and schemes._ _Besides, he has neither money nor title, so he won't get much encouragement from Papa or Mama._

 _I asked Aunt Rosamund if we can stay with her next week._ _She won't mind putting us both up, you're family, and will be head of the family soon. Papa wants me to tell you that you have every right to stay at Grantham House when you are in London. I agree, darling. You needn't stay in a hotel when this will all be yours -ours- some day. I think I will take the nine 'o' clock train, then I can be rested and ready to meet you when you arrive. Shall we take luncheon somewhere nice?_ _I'm rather looking forward to meeting all your lawyer friends at the dinner for Mr. Swire. I promise, I shall be on my best behaviour._

 _Much love from your Mary, who misses you desperately._

 _Xx_

 _October 25_ _th_ _, 1913_

 _Dear Henrietta,_

 _Thank you so much for your letter. I'm sorry I've not written since we saw each other in London during the season. What a world ago that seems now!_ _I am pleased to hear about your Mother's recovery from influenza, that must have been harrowing._

 _Things at Downton go by as usual. Edith is married and settled at Locksley, and seems very happy. Mary is waiting in the wings, I think, until she and Matthew decide that it is time to wed._ _It will be so strange to have neither of my sisters living here, and just me and Mama and Papa rattling around in this big old house. Don't you often feel that the lives we live are over the top?_ _Downton seems so cavernous to me sometimes._ _My American grandmother is here, and she says so many young folk like myself are choosing to live in apartments rather than big houses._

 _I can't say it isn't trying to have Grandmamma here. Mary has convinced her to take a trip down to Exeter, and we rather need the break._

 _So, Charlie Monckton is paying court to you is he? He is rather sweet, and I confess, there is something very charming about the Irish. Will you like a life up in Galway? Mama says it's very pretty in the summer._

 _Oh, Henrietta, I must tell you, because I want to tell somebody. I have spent the last few weeks helping out at the local hospital. Really helping out, making beds and sorting bandages and things._ _Cousin Isobel – Matthew's mother- lets me shadow her in her duties, and I rather think I have a knack for it. What do you think, is the world modern enough for an Earl's third daughter to be a nurse?_

 _I must close, I hear the gong._

 _Your friend,_

 _Sybil Crawley._

 _Xx_

November can be a dull sort of month, weather -wise. When Mary and Sybil came down to breakfast early one Tuesday in early November, however, the sun shone so brightly, the sisters remarked that they felt transported to the South of France. Smiling and linking arms, they walked in to breakfast in high spirits. Mr. Carson reflected that oftentimes they seemed just like the little girls who had roamed the house not quite ten years ago.

"Good morning Papa."

"Good morning girls. Mary, some letters for you. Sybil, Carson says you requested the motor this morning."

"Yes please, Papa, I'm taking some things down to the hospital for Cousin Isobel. Just some old clothes that I'm donating, and the boxes are too heavy for me to carry."

"Do you need to go? You could just send it down with Branson."

"I promised I'd visit with some of the new patients, too. Just to cheer them up."

"All right, but send Branson back right away. Mama and I are going to Granny's for luncheon, and she won't thank us if we are late. What's in your letter, Mary? You look very absorbed."

"Nothing really. It's just a letter from Christine Elliott. "

"I didn't know you were friends with Christine, she doesn't seem your sort at all.", remarked Sybil with a trace of nervousness.

Mary gave her a pointed look. " I don't know what my sort is. I had asked her for some details of a dress she wore in London, and she has sent me a copy of the design. I must see if Madame Swann is up to the task. But Christine seems quite full of news, today."

"Oh? What could be so interesting up on the moors?"

"She writes that Henrietta has a friend, the daughter of a fine family, who is interested in a career in nursing."

"Does she say who that is?" asked Sybil trying to be as expressionless as possible.

"Why does the young lady in question want a career in the first place? I can't see her parents or her husband allowing it."

"Maybe if there was a good reason. There are women branching out in different ways now, Papa."

"I remain dubious. Well, I must go if I am to see Jarvis before eleven."

As their Papa left the room, Mary turned curious eyes towards her sister.

"Mary, don't start. You won't give me away will you? I haven't decided yet and I'm just helping at the hospital to see how I feel about it."

"I will be as silent as the grave. Which is more than I can say for Henrietta Elliott. You have an odd way of keeping something secret."

"Oh I wanted to share it with someone."

"You can always come to me, Sybil dear."

"I know, but I wasn't sure how you would respond."

"Promise me you will take your time to reflect. Papa won't take it well, and it will make you something of an oddity."

"I just want something else, Mary. I want purpose."

"You want something besides a life of marrying well, securing your family's influence, paying calls and planning gardens? I can agree with that. "

"Do you really?"

"Why do you ask?"

"In marrying Matthew, Papa's heir, isn't that the life you are choosing? You've said yourself you wouldn't marry down."

Mary is quiet for a while. Her sister has raised a rather good question, to which Mary, for a wonder, has no answer.

"I hope that Matthew and I will have a different marriage. We plan to work together to build and manage the estate. I don't think Mama does any of that. But I am afraid you are right, much of my life will conform to the same old pattern."

After her sister leaves, Mary sits for a while in deep reflection.

Xx

On her way out, Sybil is surprised to see Dr. Clarkson coming in.

"Dr Clarkson! I'm just on my way to the hospital. What brings you here?"

"Her Ladyship asked if I would look in first thing."

"I could wait and give you a ride. I hope Mama isn't ill, she seemed well at dinner. "

"That would be very kind. I shouldn't be long. Most likely Her Ladyship just needs some new prescriptions for her sleeping powders."

Well, we all know what happens in the Other Story. Her Ladyship has not summoned Dr Clarkson for her sleeping medicine. His Lordship is about to receive a most pleasant surprise.


	16. Chapter 16

**Much gratefulness for reviews and follows. You are stellar people. Lady Mary approves of you all. Just a quick note re Mary referring to Matthew as her dull boy. By now it's more of an affectionate name as she has found that he is anything but.** **In my head, the past few months have been for Mary and Matthew that rosy, can't take my hands off you phase. I've always assumed ( from the way Dan and Michelle acted it, that M/M had powerful sexual chemistry) so being only able to kiss most of the time must have been brilliant and exquisite torture.**

 **Righto, this chapter takes place about a week after the last one. Enjoy, review, remind me of stuff I've missed!**

Dr Clarkson put down his cup and saucer and smiled brightly at the young woman taking inventory of his office supplies.

"You make an excellent cup of tea, Lady Sybil. Is this Mrs. Patmore's training?"

"No, it isn't. I did want her to help me, but every time I went downstairs, I ran into Carson. I don't think he would have approved. In the end, I spent many a tea time at Crawley House learning from Mrs. Bird. "

"I'm sure your extra skills will come in handy now."

"If I am to be a nurse, you mean? Yes, and also in life, I suppose."

Dr. Clarkson furrowed his brow. It had been a few days since he had told the Earl that the Countess was due in the early summer, but it did not seem that Lady Sybil was privy to the information.

"Ah Sybil dear, there you are. When you are done, would you mind checking through my list to make sure they match?" Isobel Crawley marched into the doctor's office as if she owned the place.

"Of course. You look very buoyed up."

"I had a letter from Matthew that he would be home tomorrow. He's been travelling quite a bit lately, so he's only been home for a day at a time. "

 _Ah ,_ thought Dr Clarkson, _that explains it. They can't make any announcement as Mr. Crawley is the one who must hear it first._ Reflecting on the preposterous nature of a social hierarchy that placed a distant cousin above one's own children, Dr . Clarkson bid farewell to the ladies and made his way to his rounds.

Xx

Matthew Crawley, in the pink of health and the highest of spirits, sat down to Saturday breakfast feeling at peace with all the world. He had been away for conferences, and a tour of government estates with Charles Blake, and was fizzing with ideas for Downton. He made a mental note to canvass Anthony Strallan on his thoughts about diverse crop plantation and began to open his letters.

Isobel looked over at her son, fondly, remarking as she often did, on how he had his father's chin and eyes. She missed Reginald sorely. They were old fashioned lovers, and the loss of him had been devastating to her. She sighed to think that, once Mary and Matthew were married, these breakfasts together would be far and few between.

"The letter you are holding is on very pretty paper. It doesn't look like Mary's style."

"It's a thank you note from Miss Lavinia Swire, Reggie Swire's daughter, for our attendance at her father's dinner last month. She had sent it a while ago, but I'm playing catch up with some of my letters."

"You never told me how that dinner went. Did Mary manage?"

"She was on her best behaviour. I was rather proud, and amused. Especially when Charles McCormick kept addressing her as Miss Crawley. She looked quite like Cousin Violet at that moment."

"How droll! Oh, poor Mary. I suppose, as you have learned to behave properly, so must she."

"Lavinia Swire was very attentive to her, they seemed to get on. Miss Swire is a very sweet girl."

"Does Mary have some competition?"

"Mary has no competition.", said Mary's fiancé moonily. If Mrs Hughes were there she would have been glad to know that Beth was not in the room.

"Come back to earth, my dear boy. Tell me, do you have plans for the day, or can I claim you to accompany me to luncheon with Cousin Violet? I am afraid I am in for a telling off about something or other, and I could use the moral support."

"I had intended to spend some part of the day going over some contracts. Robert and I have a meeting with Mr Murray on Monday afternoon, but I see that Robert has sent a note asking I come up to the Abbey as soon as I am free. I was thinking of going up to the Abbey, anyway. Can I tell you a little secret, Mother?"

"Of course you can, dear.."

"I'm going to ask Mary if we can set a date. I rather think we are ready. "

"Marvellous! I am getting older, and I can't wait anymore for grandchildren. So , you have decided where you are going to live?"

"I have a few ideas I want to run past Mary first. I would have settled for a large cottage on the estate, but it isn't her style. There are some good houses closer to Ripon that might do. The other option might be London."

"London? You didn't say."

"it's the option that I am unsure of, really. But only because it would mean we'd be away from Yorkshire. The more I think about it, the more it seems to have it's advantages. Charles Blake is hoping to recruit me for a position with the government. He's just starting out and so am I, and I rather warm to the idea of the civil service. I did well enough at Oxford to be eligible. It would give us a very comfortable life, and I think Mary would enjoy living in London. We can come up to Downton on the weekends."

"It depends on Mary, then? I would miss you, but I can't help but think of the good you can do in civil service. Well my dear, when you are ready to discuss the options in detail, you know I would be happy to help. Why don't you write to Lord Flintshire? He's a peer who works as a diplomat. I dare say he could give you some advice on how to handle it all."

"That is excellent advice, Mother. Thank you. In return, why don't I go up to the Abbey now, and then I can be free in time for luncheon? I shall be your liege man."

"Excellent. I will send Moseley out to let the Dower House know to expect you."

Xx

The Dowager is not pleased to get the message that Matthew will be joining them for luncheon. She was hoping for a little strategic conference with Isobel over Cora's latest news. Of course, the Dowager knew. Robert, who is about as subtle as a thunderclap, had been fussing and attending to his wife in a way he had only done three times before. His exuberance had made the Dowager eye Cora very keenly over the past week. Not to mention that Dr Clarkson kept refusing to look her in the eye. The Dowager, being an experienced and brilliant observer of human behaviour, knew that this would be a vastly difficult hurdle for Mary and Matthew. For all her machinations, she was glad her granddaughter was in love and did not want to see it too spoilt. The situation called for delicate, and incredibly subtle handling. The Dowager did not feel that Isobel was the most subtle ally she could call on, but she supposed that if Isobel were forewarned, she could counsel Matthew to the patience and reflection that he would need.

The Dowager is also hoping to elicit from Isobel the truth about Sybil's hospital visits. They are far too regular and too long to be charitable visits. All in all, the presence of Matthew Crawley would strike down the opportunities for such a tête- à -tête and the Dowager felt keenly that she had still not schooled Isobel well enough in the way of matriarchy.

Xx

Mary was reading in the small library when she heard Matthew's voice in the outer hall. Smiling, she went out to greet him.

"I thought you were coming later. Hello."

"Hello, darling. You look marvellous." He kissed her cheek and gave her a smile full of promise.

"Are you here to see Papa? He seemed quite anxious to see you at breakfast."

"Yes, very quickly, and then I'm off to Cousin Violet's for luncheon."

"Curiouser and curiouser. Have you been summoned?"

"I'm playing defense for Mother."

Mary laughed loudly.

"What is it?"

"When you are Earl, Isobel will be the mother of the Earl of Grantham. I hope Granny stays alive to see it."

"If she doesn't, I fully expect her to haunt the dining room to ensure that we are all on our best behaviour."

Their amusement is interrupted by Robert, who swiftly takes his heir into the library and dispatches Mary to her Mama. They had decided to tell the couple the news separately, but at the same time. Robert, had, after all, learnt some strategems from _his_ Mama.

Xx

Matthew rubbed his chin slowly. The news provided him with mixed emotions. On the one hand, if the baby was a boy, then he would be free. He and Mary could live the simpler life that he quite ached for. On the other hand, having spent over a year studying and planning and working for the estate, he had grown quite fond of Downton, and did wish to be a leader in the county. Matthew is an extremely intelligent and ambitious young man. In another universe, he may have become Prime Minister. There is another worry tugging at him, but he refuses to let it overwhelm him. Somehow, he feels he cannot know how Mary will react.

"I mean to make provision for you if it is a boy. I will place Crawley House in your name, and it will be yours for life. And, another thing. I will likely die before the boy is old enough to assume his duties. That being the case, I would like to make you the trustee of the estate, as well as guardian over the boy. "

"Thank you, Robert. I would be glad of that. You must promise me that you will also make Mary a trustee if you do so. "

"Matthew. I already think of you as my son. I am delighted that Cora is pregnant, of course, but I want you to know how highly I regard you. And it may be nothing at all, I've never been very good at making boys."

They nod at each other solemnly. Robert stands to pour them both a good stiff drink. As he does, the library door opens and Mary enters.

"So Papa has told you then? Well Papa, I told you really sensible people sleep in separate rooms. How could you do this to Matthew?"

"Mary…"

"Robert, perhaps you could leave us? It might be good for Mary and I to talk through this together."

Robert, glad to be out of the line of fire, leaves with expediency. His next stop will be the Dower House and he would need all his mental energy for that particular grilling.

Mary crosses to the sofa and gives her fiancé a glare. He goes to sit by her and holds her hand. Mary exhales slowly.

"Matthew, I don't think we should talk now. I…. I'm afraid I'm feeling very…practical."

"I thought you would."

They sit in silence for a while. Mary not wishing to speak because she is afraid she will say something hurtful. Matthew, afraid of what she has to say, is thankful for the blessed silence. Ever the lawyer, however, he decided to make his case.

From his pocket he pulls out a small velvet bag. He places its contents in her hand. It is a gold band, crowned with a pearl and a circle of tiny diamonds.

"it's beautiful, Matthew."

"I was going to come and see you later today to ask you to set a date."

"What happens if the child is a boy?"

" I want to marry you, Mary, whatever happens."

" I want to marry you, too, Matthew, but what will our life be?"

" That's actually something I was going to talk to you about today. Charles Blake is hoping to recruit me to the civil service. We would have a good life. A smart set of rooms in London, Crawley House at the weekend. It wouldn't be too different. We won't have all these servants, just a cook, a maid for you, and a butler who doubles as a valet."

"You've thought it through. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, with you by my side. How does it sound to you? It would be the life we would have anyway while Robert is alive."

"There is a beautiful simplicity in it. I was looking forward to our having a simple hiatus before we had to become the Earl and Countess of Grantham."

"Then nothing has changed, has it? Besides, it could still be a girl."

"Are we the sort of people to have that kind of luck, do you think?"

He smiled at her arch look.

"What do you think, darling? Let's marry at Christmas and start our life in London in the New Year."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is to me. I've told you before that for me, it is all very simple."

"Isn't that because you see the world in black and white? For me, everything is grey. I was brought up to marry well, to be a force in the county. I don't know how much I want the same pattern to my life as Mama, but I do want a position, I want to be a leader. I was quite reconciled to our simple hiatus, with the knowledge that Downton would be our eventual end."

"You can still be those things. The wife of a civil servant can be powerful. You know that I am terribly ambitious. " He teased her a little.

"And terribly clever." She kissed his chin.

"Well, Lady Mary Crawley?"

"Matthew, I've always said that I won't marry down. I mean, I always envisioned someone with money and a title. Someone who can give me a position in society. Somehow, when I think of you, all of that doesn't really seem to matter."

"I sense an oncoming preposition…"

" I do feel that Downton is my birthright, that somehow it should be mine to steward. I got so used to being secure in that dream, and if the baby is a boy, I have to give up everything I dreamed of. A title, a position, Downton. It feels like too much. Already, I feel that same sense of bitterness towards the baby as I did to you when you arrived a year ago. Won't I resent you? Won't we resent each other? I don't know if I can be happy."

"Mary, " he said in a low and cold voice, " this is very disappointing."

"Matthew, you will have your career. I don't know how to have purpose if I don't have a defined position in society."

"That is something to work at, to achieve. We all have to do that. It will be difficult, for both of us, but we will be together."

" Do we have the fortitude to survive that kind of thing? We are both equally stubborn."

"It seems to me that you have all the arguments ready to suggest that we end our engagement." He speaks with real anger.

"I have not said that, I just think that I need a little time." She returns, spikily.

He is terribly quiet. He turns his face from her and breathes deeply.

"Mary, I am disappointed. I am hurt. Nothing has changed for me. And you seem to act as if you are the only one to lose. I have grown fond of Downton, too. I had started to dream and plan here. But I think I can see a similarly bright future for us elsewhere."

"I just don't know if I can."

"I love you. How long do you think you will need to know?"

"A week, two weeks? I don't know."

"I suppose I will wait for your note. I cannot say I will wait forever."

She nodded. "I do love you, so terribly, terribly much."

He smiled a little, kissed her and closed her hand around the pearl ring.

"Let us both take some time, then. Goodbye."

As she watched him walk away, Lady Mary Crawley sank into the sofa and indulged in what our modern generation refers to as an ugly cry.


	17. Chapter 17

**I promise you that M/M will end up together.** **There may be twists and turns but have patience and they will be together. I realise we are a little M/M heavy in these past few chapters, but we will soon be spending quite a lot of time with Sybil.**

 _Eaton Square_

 _November 25, 1913_

 _Dearest Mama,_

 _Mary has written to me with Cora's news. It seems a little preposterous that Cora should be pregnant at her age, but if the child is male then honour will have been satisfied. Not that I dislike Cousin Matthew, but we all agree that it would be better if the heir was Robert's son._

 _I have written to Mary to_ _advise_ _her to cast her net a little widely. Evelyn Napier is still rather keen, and so is Tony Gillingham._ _I rather have an idea to host a little soiree for them sometime next month. It will not do for Mary to lose a proper position in society because of an attachment made before all the facts were clear._

 _As for me, I am having a wretched time adjusting to my new_ _ladies maid. She's quite harsh with hair, and I feel I shall have to let her go. Couldn't you ask your maid for some advice on a good candidate? It's quite dreadful to have a maid who cannot do hair._

 _Tell Robert and Cora that I will try to come up next weekend to see them all. I haven't seen dear Edith since her wedding._

 _With affection,_

 _Rosamund_

 _Xx_

On a chilly late November morning, Sybil wrapped herself up well and struck out for a long walk. There wasn't much to do in the hospital, and she was vary of Granny, so she had kept herself to the house the past week. _Rather the wrong week for it, though,_ she reflected. The house had something of an atmosphere, what with Mary quite chilly to Mama and Papa, and her parents acting like newlyweds. _Poor Mary, I hope her situation is soon resolved._

As Sybil rounded a clump of pine trees, still wet with morning dew, she found herself standing out the outside of the garages. Seated on his hind legs and polishing the front end of the car was her political pen pal.

"Mr. Branson, good morning."

Tom turned and looked at her and he could swear he heard violins playing. Shaking his head a little, he stood up and despaired at the oil on his hands.

"Lady Sybil, do you need the car?"

"I was just out for a walk, and it brought me to you." Then, blushing alarmingly at what that statement could mean, she quickly corrected herself, " The path I was on led to the garages."

"I'm glad to see you. I just finished _The Silent Places._ "

"Did you like it? I know I don't often give you fiction, but I thought, why not?"

"I liked the unpredictability of the plot and the reflection on the outdoors. I read it sitting by the stream in the gardens."

"What an excellent choice. You must have the soul of poet." It is now his turn to blush.

"How is your work at the hospital?", he asks.

"Oh, it's just so marvellous to see a purpose shaping up for my life. It's also quite wretched to see the difficulties for women when their husbands are laid up and unable to work. I want to talk to Papa about a scheme that would help."

"There probably are informal things happening in the village. But they could always use support from His Lordship."

"That's perfectly right. I should find them out."

"It's really good to see the work you do."

"Does it stop you from razing us to the ground? I'm sure Papa keeps expecting you to do so."

"I do find your way of life to be morally incorrect, but I see the revolution taking place differently. We have to educate ourselves, and our fellow men about social injustices and the oppressive regimes all around us. Education is the revolution. It is not enough simply to drive the rich out from their palaces, we must address injustices."

"Well said. So how is being a chauffeur helping with that?"

"I have to earn my way in the world. My brother Kieran and I came over a few years ago. He's working as a car mechanic in Leeds, and I found work as a chauffeur."

"And what about Ireland? Some of the pamphlets you gave me suggest that you are for Home Rule. Why abandon the fight?"

"Who says I have? I write columns for political pamphlets, you know."

She titled her head and smiled at him. "It's good to know the work you do. Well, I must get back to the house. My aunt is arriving today, I expect you will have to go pick her up shortly."

"Will you come back to talk again some time?" He asks the question with trepidation.

She smiled and nodded her assent, and walked back to the house thinking how different her life could be from Mary's.

Xx

 _Crawley House,_

 _December 1, 1913_

 _Dear Charles_

 _,A short note to let you know that I have thought about your suggestion of some work with the home civil service. The more I think about it, the more I feel certain that I should take it up. I_ _am excited by the chance to research and form policies that would move the country forward. You see, I am as idealistic as you, my friend. Do let me know the particulars, and so on. I can be in London for_ _a meeting before Christmas._

 _Yours Faithfully,_

 _Matthew Crawley, esq._

 _Crawley House_

 _December 2, 1913_

 _Dear Mary,_

 _I have not heard from you since we last spoke, and I can only assume it is because you wish for silence while you make your decision._ _In the same vein, I have been keeping myself from the Abbey. Perhaps it is good for a couple to have time apart to think. I only wanted to let you know that I have written to Blake to tell him that I would be open to taking up a position in the CS._ _Whatever your decision, it is what I wish to pursue, and I feel that my training as a lawyer will serve me well in this._

 _I hope to receive a reply to this letter._

 _Yours,_

 _Matthew_

 _Xx_

"My dear," said Sir Anthoyn Strallan to his wife, " have you read The Times yet this morning?" He galumphed good naturedly into her room waving the paper about.

"Darling, you will put Baker's eye out. Thank you, Baker, you may go. What has got you so worked up, Anthony?"

"But just look!"

And there on the inner second page was her article on the role of aristocratic women and the future of estates! Edith felt truly elated. She had spent a good month writing it out, even to the detriment of her wedding planning, and it was incredible to see the payoff.

"I feel quite accomplished."

"And so you should. See the byline, Lady Edith Strallan. I must write to Lillian, I don't think Chetwood has a subscription to The Times. He only reads about foxes and horses, you know."

"The Times has a racing page."

"Quite. What do you say to a morning's drive? We can go to Downton and show off your prowess."

Edith considered. While she ached to go, mostly to flaunt her success in the face of Mary's misery, she rather feared exposing Anthony to the snide part of herself. To be truthful, also, Edith considered herself to be the new bride and hopefully soon the expectant mother. She wasn't too sure how she felt about Cora stealing the spotlight. Having won the marriage war with Mary, she didn't really want to be in competition with her mother.

"A drive I think, but not to Downton. Why don't we go see Granny, instead? We haven't called on her since we married and I'm sure we're overdue."

Xx

The Dowager is in a towering rage. She is angry with Robert and Cora for not telling her about the pregnancy first, angry with Isobel who had climbed up the moral high ground and refused to come down it, and now, there was Rosamund.

Looking at her daughter across the table, the Dowager rather wished she could throw all societal and ethical norms out the window and just beat the woman with her stick.

"Why you feel the need to interfere, Rosamund, is beyond me."

"Mama, what have I said or done that you yourself would not do? Mary needs a position. Matthew may not give it to her. She must seek it somewhere else."

"Rosamund, I will not have this drama unfolding when Cora's mother returns from Exeter. Mary must take Matthew, he may not be the Earl of Grantham, but for her sake, we can find him something brilliant. "

"This is unlike you Mama, shouldn't we push her towards the right sort of man?"

"I have watched them together these several months. I don't think I could bear to ask Mary to tie herself to someone else. Besides, if she refuses him now when everything is unsure, he will not want her if he does get the title."

" Your sentimentality is astounding. Anyway, I have already spent a half hour with her this morning, and I think she sees the sense in letting him go. Mary is a pragmatist at her core, thank heaven."

"And if the baby is a girl? What sort of unknown will then be the Countess of Grantham?"

"Well Mama, now I see your real agenda."

"Rosamund, I forbid you from getting involved. Yes, I forbid it!"

A subtle cough.

"Sir Anthony Strallan and Lady Edith Strallan, milady." Spratt eased his way in and out of the room with a grace that would have made Mr Carson proud.

The Strallans came in, all smiles. Edith, knowing her aunt and grandmother as she did could tell that they had entered into the middle of a full scale battle.

"We didn't mean to surprise you Lady Grantham, Lady Rosamund, we just had some news that we're bursting to share." Sir Anthony is such a dear man, he would never have suspected that he had walked in on a row.

Two sets of sharp blue eyes immediately turned to Edith's mid-section.

"I suppose fecundity comes in waves, like the plague.", murmured the Dowager.

"No, Granny, not that. Another kind of offspring. I have an article featured in The Times."

"Oh? And when will you be performing at the gaiety?"

"I think it's splendid, I am so proud of my dear little wife." He smiled at her beningly, and Edith felt so incredibly lucky. Something about the way he looked at her made her resolve to speak to Mary.

Xx

 _Dunnottar Castle,_

 _December 8, 1913_

 _Dear Lady Mary,_

 _I hope that this letter finds you very well. I was_ _recently on my way from London to Aberdeenshire and met your aunt, Lady Rosamund, at Kings Cross. She mentioned how you were getting on and it cast me back to fond memories of my last visit_ _earlier this year. My purpose here is to drive a car back for my uncle, and I will be motoring down from Aberdeen on the 20_ _th_ _._ _If it is at all possible, I would like to break journey at Downton for a night, before continuing on to Oxford._

 _Yours faithfully &c_

Xx

Isobel Crawley is also in a towering rage. She felt deep sadness for her son who had uprooted his life to start a new chapter at Downton, only now to be kicked to the curb with no money, no title and no love. She was angry with Mary for listening to people with shallow and greedy values, and moreover, she was angry with the source of those values. While her son sulked and silently raged around the house, Isobel was making plans. She would not let her son lose everything. After deliberating for a while, she made a resolve to speak with Mary. After all, the girl was still young, and what she needed was someone to show her right from wrong. It was probably all too easy to have a skewed sense of the world when living in marble halls.

xx

Now, tell me friends, what is that old adage about too many cooks?


	18. Chapter 18

**As you can probably tell, I am mucking about a little bit with a few different kinds of writing devices; humour, letters, drama etc. mostly because I am using fanfiction as a way to develop my fiction writing skills. So the next three chapters are a little bit of an experiment, first person POVs with each of the three sisters. Hope you enjoy it. And if you don't, well, I will send the Dowager round.**

Sybil

I wonder if it will snow before Christmas. Wouldn't that be lovely? Downton always looks so glorious covered in snow. I know people think that winter is such a time for death, but truly I see life everywhere. What is it that the poem says _?_ _Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass/Seems clad miraculously with glass._ Mary would laugh and tease me for seeing the good in everything. Isn't that what we are supposed to do, though? Find hope? When Mr. Branson talks about the revolution, I can't but help seeing how much his politics is a politics of hope. That was rather deep, wasn't it? I am becoming quite introspective. Mary is raising her eyebrows at me in a Granny-ish way. It's good to see her do that, she has been quite cold and withdrawn since Mama and Papa told us their news. It is really horrid for Mary and Matthew, but I can't help feeling excited. I must ask Dr. Clarkson if I can borrow some books on maternity and older mothers.

"Sybil, darling," says Mary to me as we leave the breakfast room, " will you walk with me to the village? I need to send a letter, but I don't wish to be alone."

"Of course." I don't think she wants to be on her own in case she meets Matthew. Poor Mary, she is so devastatingly in love with him. I do like Matthew, he is a gentleman, very kind and fair. I'm not sure how I feel about his focus on making profit on the estate. What does that mean for the tenant farmers and the workers? What about their wives? Although I can understand that he would want the estate to survive. Mama read that the Mallertons have had to sell some of their paintings just to keep the household staff paid for. Yet, it's only a few estates that are facing financial trouble. I can't imagine Downton going away. Papa wouldn't survive it.

"Your brow is rather furrowed. Is it your corset again?" asks Mary. She is already in her hat and coat.

"Don't be silly. Just thinking of everything I have to do today."

"Yes, I forgot. You are now part of the working masses."

"Not yet, but soon." Mary gives me another one of her Granny-esque looks.

"Try not to let Papa hear you say that."

As we walk down to the village in companiable silence, I can't help but think how beautiful Mary is, with her dark hair contrasting with the snowy fields. I know most people think that Mary is cold and calculating, but she's really quite kind and sensitive. Actually, Mary is a little over-sensitive. I should never say that out loud.

"Who are you posting a letter to?"

"Oh, Tony Gillingham, he's motoring down on the 20th and wants to stay the night. Mama said she didn't mind. I think she is rather hoping to make up for Papa yelling at Tony during your ball."

"Golly, that was a turn up for the books. I am so glad it is all over. If Tony comes on the 20th , he will be here for Mama's birthday dinner. Aren't Matthew and Cousin Isobel coming up for it?"

"Yes. And Grandmamma and Lillian Chetwood. I daresay Mama is glad to up the male numbers for the dinner."

"So Tony Gillingham is just a prop, then?"

Mary laughs for longer than is necessary. It is almost as if she needs it. She leaves me when we get to the village proper and I make my way to the hospital.

I think I am becoming quite sure that I want to train as a nurse. I should ask Mr. Pattinson to compile a set of medical books for me. Dr . Clarkson is still not too happy about keeping my secret from Mama and Papa, I don't want to shock him with the full knowledge of it. Oh, excellent, there's Nurse Corden, she promised I could help her with dressing some wounds today.

"Lady Sybil! Always on time, that's what I like to see. Is Mrs. Crawley joining us today?"

"I can't say for sure. Do you mind me shadowing you on my own?"

"Certainly not, milady. Let's go see Mr. Robinson, that is the patient I spoke to you about before."

"Yes, deep bruising and a long gash from falling under a grain bin."

"Correct. You can watch me clean the wound, it's not as gruesome as it was, so it won't be too alarming for your sensibilities, milady."

"Oh please Nurse Corden, I want to know everything."

"With all respect, milady, Dr. Clarkson and Lord Grantham would not approve of that."

I bristled. How was I supposed to know this work if I was held back because of my 'fine sensibilities'?

"Oh Nurse Corden, I don't care about all of that."

"Well, milady, I think that rules and social norms exist for a reason. It would make me uncomfortable to cross them."

As I follow her, I feel uncomfortable, too. I want so much to change and to have purpose, I never thought I was making someone else uneasy. Perhaps I should be more considerate about discommoding Dr. Clarkson. It's almost as bad as Papa and Granny, driving something forward just because I think I have a right to. Although, I must say, Gwen and Mr. Branson don't seem to mind at all. Mr. Branson always seems so eager to talk. He's so intelligent and engaged, and very sweet.

I really should stop thinking so much about Mr. Branson.

Sister is beckoning towards me to wash my hands. Begone Mr. Branson, bring on gruesome gashes!


	19. Chapter 19

Edith

"Darling," says Anthony coming into my room while I eat breakfast, " I have a meeting with Yates this morning to discuss buying a new harvester. Would you like to sit in on it? I'm sorry I didn't mention it last night."

"I would like to, but I do need to sit down with Mrs. McGeorge to talk about a few of the Christmas details."

"Is there much to discuss, aren't we just at Downton?"

"There is the matter of the servant's gifts, and our own modest celebration together. Besides, I want to make best use of the season to look out some of the decorations and things that have been gathering dust in your attics."

"Never had use for much of it. Speaking of gathering dust, when does Lillian arrive?"

I wonder why it is that men never read letters through. I know Lillian had written to him with the date.

"She will be here on the 18th, and stay through till the 22nd, then she leaves to Phillip's to join the family for Christmas."

"Capital, capital. I'm jolly glad we have a good excuse not to go to Phillip's. Do you suppose we can make Christmas at Downton a standing invite?"

"I think it already is. Granny has been most insistent. I think she's worried that one day she'll find herself at a table with just herself and Papa and Mama."

"No chance of that. Shall I see you at luncheon, then?"

"Certainly, but I will be driving over to Downton, after. I need to speak to Mary, and pick up some seedlings from Mr Brocket for Mr Howard."

Anthony smiles and kisses my hand. As he does, it strikes me again how very handsome my husband is. I am rather glad that he is not in his full youth, for there is something quite resplendent about the lines on his face. Something refined and glorious, like the work of an Old Master. I wondered what it would be like to fling propriety to the winds and pull him down to the bed for an earnest bout of love making. But, alas, we have our work to do, and Baker is in the bathroom next door preparing for my morning ablutions. Lovemaking will have to wait for the evening.

Something I never realised was the kind of communication that can happen between the bodies of two people when they make love. A kind of non-verbal poetry and vow giving. It made me feel powerful and shy all at once. I am thankful my husband is mature and a considerate lover.

Goodness, I blush at myself! It is too early in the morning to be thusly préoccupé.

"Milady, will you be changing after luncheon?"

"I don't think so, Baker. I ought to wear a thick coat for my trip to Downton, I rather wish to take a walk with my sister."

"It is rather wet underfoot, milady, perhaps I ought to have a set of walking boots placed in the car for you?"

"You are a gem, Baker. Once I am dressed, will you ask Mrs. McGeorge to meet me in the morning room?"

She nods and motions that it is time for me to begin dressing. I look out the windows as I do so, enjoying the mild winter morning.

Locksley is a beautiful house. It is not as big as Downton, and I rather think Aunt Rosamund finds the size of the gardens wanting, but I like the quaintness. It suits us, and the little life we are making together. I cannot believe how happy my life is now.

Xx

Anthony decides to drive over to Downton with me. He has a book he wants to borrow from the library he says, but I suspect he wants to bend Mama's ear regarding a Christmas gift for me.

When we get to Downton, Mama comes out to greet us. She looks radiant, and a-glow with happiness. I hope I look that beautiful when I am with child.

"Hello my dears. Will you have tea? Papa would love to have you. We can talk about the plans for my birthday party."

"Is it going to be a large party?", asks Anthony.

"it seems to be expanding day by day. Tony Gillingham invited himself, much to Papa's chagrin, but I felt we couldn't put him off. Matthew asked if Charles Blake could join. Charles is coming up for a meeting, and Matthew wanted to host him properly. And Papa doesn't want to refuse Matthew anything. Then we have the family, Dickie Merton and Larry Grey, and of course Lillian."

"Why is Larry Grey coming? Uncle Dickie always comes, but I've rarely seen the boys attend your birthday. Shouldn't he be in London making merry?"

"I think Larry Grey is keen on Sybil."

"Are you keen on Larry Grey, Cora?" asks Anthony.

"Not really, but I suppose it's up to Sybil. If she loves him, we'll love him."

Granny would have winced at that speech, and called Mama a hapless American.

Papa is already in the library, and seems happy to see us. Soon, he and Anthony are knee deep in a discussion of the cricket line up for next summer. I dare say Papa is excited to have another man for the house team. It gives me a chance to try to slip away.

"Mama, I rather thought I would go have a word with Mary. Don't worry, it's not a confrontation. Do you know where she is ?"

"She and Sybil are upstairs sorting through some clothes for the poor box. They should be down for tea in a minute. Please be gentle with Mary, dear. She's had both Granny and Rosamund badgering her today. Thankfully Rosamund has gone to see the Skeltons and won't be back till tomorrow."

When Mama finishes speaking, Sybil and Mary come in to the room. I have always envied the easy camaraderie that they share, and it's evident that the bond has only grown deeper since my marriage.

"Hello Edith, how delightful to see you." Of course, that is Sybil. Mary wouldn't ever willingly admit delight at seeing me. She'd rather eat a bowl of spiders.

"Taking a break from the quaint little cottage, are we? How nice.", she murmurs, and walks away to the tea tray. I almost decide against speaking to her. Gathering my resolve, I follow her to the tray. Behind me, I can sense Mama's brow crease with worry. She expects a showdown.

"Mary, I wonder, would you mind if we took ourselves to the music room? I wanted to talk to you about something."

" Edith, you are about as subtle as a bucket. There is only one topic of conversation that anyone wants to engage me on."

"I only wanted to give you some advice."

" I don't need your help, thank you. I'm rather full to the eyebrows with advice. Besides, " and she has the grace to drop her voice, " I'd rather not take counsel from someone who clearly settled."

I am shaking with anger.

"It might interest you to know that I did not settle, that I am the happiest of women."

Mary sneers at me and makes to leave the room. She turns, suddenly, and announces to the whole room,

"I will make my own decision, and I will not be handled!" The words are extreme, but the tone is cold and low.

Anthony and I drive home in silence. I know that he does not like scenes. He's a straightforward sort of man and can't abide melodrama. I still shake with anger. I'm angry that Anthony had to witness that exchange of words. I am angry with Mary for her rudeness. And of course, I am angry with myself. Mary can always rip me to shreds, and I thought having my own life would inoculate me against her barbs.

Very well, if she wants to cut off her nose to spite her face, I shan't help her. May the Lord have mercy on her soul. I kiss Anthony on the cheek and whisper in his ear about my plans for the evening. We return to our paradise, leaving all thoughts of unpleasantness behind.


	20. Chapter 20

Mary

What a strange and surprising day.

It began in a routine sort of way. Anna brought me my morning tea and chirruped happily about the preparations for the party. Anna is very chirpy these days, I think it has something to do with Papa's valet. Which is odd. Bates seems about as interesting as Anthony Strallan.

I dressed, and breakfasted in silence with Papa and Sybil. I felt Papa's eyes on me, but he held his tongue. I am grateful that Papa has had the sense to keep silent. If not for him and Sybil, I think I would have gone quite mad. Mama has spent the last few weeks looking at me with imploring cow's eyes. Granny has been quite vexatious, but no more than usual. Aunt Rosamund is unbearable. Isobel has been trying to corner me for several days. And Edith, what did she think she was doing? To give _me_ , advice?

I have felt rather envious of cats this week. At least they can hiss and claw out when they feel cornered. All I can do is leave the room, or go for long walks. All week I have felt in danger of becoming some dreadfully Bronte-ish heroine.

It was too cold for a walk this morning, so I made sure that Mama had no need of me, and took myself and my book to the Pink Room to pass the morning in solitude. The Pink Room was Granny's favourite room when she lived here, so Mama rarely uses it. I opened my book and stared at the letter that I had tucked into the inside cover. A letter that I somehow cannot send.

 _My darling, darling man,_

 _I am so happy you have accepted Mr. Blake. I love you, I love you._

 _Come back to me,_

 _Mary._

To send it, would have been to say that I am ready. So much time spent asking myself this question, and I am still none the wiser. I looked out the window to distract myself, and saw Sybil, muffled up to her eyes, walking in the direction of the garages. She could have sent a footman to order the motor, surely. She probably thinks it's unfair to make someone else go out in the snow.

I read until luncheon. Tony Gillingham had arrived by then, looking very red and cold. It seemed such an odd thing, to make a long drive in the middle of winter. Then again, as Granny would say, Tony doesn't seem to have retained the sense he was born with.

The fire in the north library was blazing away, so after luncheon, Sybil and I took ourselves there to play Logomachy. It really was a dreary sort of day, and we did not feel up to being productive. Tony settled himself near us with the paper. I asked Sybil where she had gone this morning. She seemed rather confused.

"I saw you go out to the garages. Weren't you ordering the motor?", I asked pointedly.

"No, there was just something I wanted to talk to Mr. Branson about. "

"What would you have to talk to the chauffeur about?"

"Nothing special. I was just talking to him. He's a person. Have you never spoken to him?"

"Yes, to order the motor. I know he's a person, darling. He's also a servant. "

Sybil retreated into the game. I really think Sybil is going to do something alarming. I shall have to do something to head her off at the pass. Golly, sometimes I do sound like Granny, don't I?

Carson entered with a message for Sybil from Mama, and she excused herself from the room.

Tony seized on the opening.

He smiled at me winningly. "What a pleasant afternoon this has been. I think I could spend all my afternoons like this."

I'll say this for Edith, she is at least more subtle than Tony Gillingham. It's such a shame, he's so very well built.

"Quiet afternoons are wonderful.", I replied noncommittally.

"I hope you don't mind if I make use of our being alone in this manner."

"What an alarming declaration! What do you have in mind?". I felt unutterably bored, it all seemed so very predictable.

He took my hand in his. What an idiot.

"Mary, I have travelled a long way to ask a very short question. I cannot stop thinking about you. Will you marry me?

I considered it, I must admit, for something like a whole minute. Why not marry Anthony Gillingham? The estate is not as large as Downton, but it is a good family, a strong title. The old Lord Gillingham died only recently, so Tony would be mine for the moulding. He is a pleasant, if unexciting, companion, and if it really gets too dull, I could have a string of lovers. It's acceptable if I'm married isn't it? And then I thought of what Matthew would be like as a lover and my head filled with him.

"Tony, I must admit I am surprised. Surely you remember that I am promised to Matthew Crawley?"

"I have to confess something Mary. Your Aunt Rosamund told me that there was a chance that the match would not go through. She encouraged me to speak to you. I would not have come here otherwise."

"Did she indeed? I'm sorry you have gone to so much trouble. There has been no change in my circumstances."

"Then it is for me to be sorry. What a ghastly mistake to make. It seems that that is all I do when it comes to the Crawleys."

"It is not your fault, Tony. Believe me. If you'll excuse me, I think I will go and take some rest before the gong."

Xx

Anna wakes me at the gong, and we begin the business of dressing for dinner.

"Mr. Carson said that you were talking to Lord Gillingham for a while today.", said Anna. She has such a gentle way of asking me questions without quite asking them.

" Lord Gillingham pressed his suit , but he was refused."

" I would not have expected anything else, milady. Mr. Crawley will be here tonight, won't he?"

"Yes. Yes he will be."

When I went down, almost everyone else was already in the drawing room. I could hear Edith chatting excitedly about an offer from the editor of The Sketch. I shall have to cancel my subscription.

I did not feel eager to enter the room, so I stood outside a while.

"Mary." It is Isobel, who is inexplicably not in the drawing room. She had cornered me, at last. Isobel is irritating, but no more irritating than anyone else. I do admire her. She has gumption, and I can admire that.

"Isobel, I cannot hear any more advice."

"I just want to say that you shouldn't be scared of the unknown. Your life may be very different, I don't deny it, but I think it will be a happy one. The world you live in really isn't a normal one."

"It is normal for me."

Isobel didn't know how to respond. She patted my hand and went into the drawing room and I followed her.

The party was in good spirits, the effect of a good fire and good drinks. I sat by Sybil and Lillian Chetwood and listened to their conversation. I could feel Matthew in the room. He was in the corner, talking cricket with Tony, Papa and Charles Blake. I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes. He was looking in my direction, so I turned my face to him completely and smiled. He smiled, too, that enigmatic half-smile of his. Well, so far, so good, I thought.

As we went into dinner, Matthew offered me his arm – more out of habit than anything else, I think- and we walked in together. It felt so very natural. Aunt Rosamund looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. Even Mama looked a little worried. They both kept looking at Tony crossly. This plot is very thick.

Granny and Isobel looked triumphant. Goodness, the players on this chessboard are very bizarrely scattered.

At dinner, I was seated between Charles Blake and Tony Gillingham. Charles was as chirpy as Anna. Unlikely that it is Bates in his case.

"I expect Matthew has told you his news?"

"Yes, he did. He seems very happy. When is the off?"

"Sir John De Vere has only just confirmed the appointment. Matthew will take up his post in February, so I suppose we can expect you both to be in London by then."

Charles did not seem to know of our estrangement.

"That seems to be what the future holds."

I looked at Matthew and mouthed "February?". He nodded and, then, turned back to his conversation with Grandmamma.

Grandmamma noted the exchange. I am sure that everyone at the table did, but I did not have the energy to look around. I continued to make small talk with Charles until Mama allowed us to turn. Tony and I talked about horses- thank goodness for horses and English staidness- and it carried us to the end of dinner. I decided that I could not bear to be in the drawing room with the other ladies, so I escaped to the Pink Room.

There was a knock on the door. Knocks on doors are always ominous.

It was Matthew. Of course it was Matthew. He is the kind of man who needs to talk things out, more's the pity. He is also the heir to his mother's entrapment skills.

"This time, I am awaiting a reply to my letter. What has happened to your manners, Lady Mary?" He was half-teasing, half angry. I could not sense his mood accurately.

We sat down on opposite chairs. It felt rather like a conference between states.

"I think I have written a few thousand replies."

"So you still have no decision for me?" He sounded weary.

"Things remain unchanged, for you, then?", I countered.

"I cannot say that exactly. I have decided to move some parts of my life along. My preference is for us to be together in this life, but I think I can be resolved to other…choices… if that is what it is to be." He spoke in a collected, business like way, as if we were discussing the purchase of a new horse.

"How wonderful for you. I am glad you are able to take a rational approach to things."

He struck his hand on the arm of the chair.

"Why is it that you cannot take anything seriously? I am here because I want a resolution. I do not wish to keep waiting for you to make up your mind. What do you suppose, that I am at your beck and call?"

"I don't see why I have to decide so quickly. Every where I turn, there it is, someone with an opinion on what I should do. I have half a mind to run away."

"Don't be puerile, Mary. You have had a month."

"Don't badger me, Matthew."

"I am not the sort of man to give a woman an ultimatum. I have hung on this long because I am deeply in love with you, as you are with me. The question, again, is very simple. Is it enough for you to spend the rest of your life with me?"

"Granny said I should take you now and drop you if the baby is a boy. Aunt Rosamund is completely against the match. Grandmamma just thinks I should move with her to Newport."

"What a council! I think the problem is that you do not know your own mind. "

"This from the man who swears to be in love with me."

"I may be in love, but it is easy to see that 'love's best habit is in seeming trust.' "

"You seem to have misunderstood what I meant by my request for a sonnet."

We were both on our feet by then and it was a shouting match. Propriety be damned. Gosh, it was thrilling.

"For God's sake, Mary, when will you stop playing games? Just make the decision. Take me, or cut me loose."

"Can't you understand what you are asking me to give up?"

"From my point of view, not very much. I am asking you to give up a life of artifice, false pride and unnatural wealth. _You_ just can't bring yourself to be plain old Mrs. Crawley, can you?"

"Huh. Haven't you learned anything? I will always be Lady Mary, whatever happens to you. You know you call me a snob, but you have a mis-placed righteousness. It's still a kind of snobbery. You think that you hold higher morals just because you aren't…"

"Aren't what? You're a coward, Mary." That stung, and it was this statement that sealed my decision. But first, I wanted to finish the fight.

"Well, you're pig- headed."

Another knock on the door. This time it is Charles Blake. " I am sent by your Papa to ask you to be calm."

We both glared at him. "Oh get out, Charles", says Matthew uncharacteristically. Charles, surprised by Matthew's anger, leaves immediately.

I am still not sure why but Charles' actions broke the tension and Matthew and I fell into our chairs laughing hysterically.

I watched him laugh. I watched his beautiful face fill with light and I couldn't contain myself any longer. I stoop up, went over to him and kissed him full on the mouth. He pushed me away a little, but put his hand on my cheek. I was not to be denied, so I kissed him again. This time, he deepened the kiss and pulled me onto his lap. Matthew and I had kissed many times before this, and with passion, certainly. This kiss was completely different. It was urgent, and so full of unadulterated desire. His mouth travelled from mine to my jawline and slowly down my neck. His hands slid up my bodice, to cup my breasts. I slid my hands down from his hair and inside his dinner jacket, biting his cheek softly as I did so. He groaned, and buried his head in my shoulder. His hands dropped to my waist.

"Oh Mary, " he said softly, "this past month my heart has been breaking."

I wrapped my arms around him; the mood shifted so quickly from desire to tenderness.

He looked up at directly at me.

"I have been in London quite often this month, and I saw a lot of Reggie and Lavinia Swire. You had not replied my letter. On one occasion, Miss Swire and I took a walk together, and I am afraid that I kissed her. I made no promises, but there was a significant attraction." The words tumbled out of him.

"Tony Gillingham asked me to marry him today and I considered accepting him." All's fair in love and war.

"Why didn't you accept, in the end? You would have the life you want."

"Will you ask Lavinia Swire for her hand?"

"I won't deny that I have thought about it. She is very sweet, very kind. Very uncomplicated. We would have an affectionate and happy marriage."

"Tony Gillingham is also a straightforward option.", I replied, with more venom than I intended.

I waited a beat and then said, "Matthew, perhaps it would be better for you to be uncomplicated with Lavinia Swire than fractious with me.

"Is that really your decision?", he asks softly.

I stood up. "Oh Matthew, what is it that I am always telling you? You must never really pay any attention to the things I say. My dear, dull, darling, man, you have waged your war tonight and won it. Besides, the only other option seems to be Tony Gillingham. And Mama is right, I have to marry someone, and it might as well be you."

He stared at me for several minutes, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. Then he laughed roguishly and pulled me back onto his lap.

"Then kiss me, _Mrs._ Crawley."

xx

 **I was really torn between breaking them up or getting them properly together. Sorry about all the angst, but I wanted Mary to struggle with her decision, because this new life is going to be pretty challenging for her. Obviously, at the point that he outright calls her a coward, she decides to marry him because she can't back down from a challenge either. I didn't break them up because I rather wanted to see if I was up to the challenge of Edith as Lady Strallan, Mary as an upper middle class wife, and Sybil as Mrs. Branson.**

 **Happy Easter my friends, thanks so much for reading, reviewing and all your encouragement.**


	21. Chapter 21

**My username on archiveofourown is Dilmah25, but I don't update there as frequently.**

 **Hi everyone, I don't want to do any marking, so I am writing the 21** **st** **Chapter. Just a wee note about Mary being okay with Matthew kissing Lavinia. In my study of Mary's psychology, I don't think that this is the kind of thing that seems like a betrayal. Firstly, it sort of evens the playing field ( Kemal versus Lavinia), and secondly, I think for Mary betrayals are bigger things like Matthew not supporting the family. And thirdly, Mary is more likely to torture Lavinia than Matthew over it, don't you think?**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing, you guys are giving me the courage to think of writing my own book of fiction** **! So, a fairly light chapter to start with.**

Xx

1914 is a watershed moment for Europe, marking the end of a relatively stable continent, and a time of world wars, upheaval, dictatorships and revolution. Our books, our music, our civil rights , our academies will never be the same again. This is the beginning of the modern era, of the reverberations of Joyce, Lawrence, Gide, Picasso, Stravinsky, Diaghilev, Wyndham Lewis, Ezra Pound, of T.S. Eliot **.** A great levelling of society takes places in the years following the world wars, with many questions being asked of the stuffy rules and sexual repressions of the century before. Can you imagine being a woman when your society is re-awakening like this? There is disenchantment, and then there is this incomprehensible 'brave new world.' Our Crawley sisters are women of this world.

Of course, as we join them in the middle of January, they have no comprehension of the world that is to be. It is tea-time at Downton. If there are multiple universes ( as I very much suspect there are), in each an everyone one of them, then tea-time in the library is, for all Crawleys who are and ever will be, point 0,0,0,0.

Edith and Anthony have come over to take tea and to show Robert their new chocolate Labrador, Angus. Anthony does not feel bound by the family tradition of naming dogs after Egyptian pharaohs. While Isis and Angus confer by Robert's desk, the conversation turns to the rent strike in Leeds. In their predictable fashion, Robert and Anthony are quite worked over by the fact that the strikers have managed to hold the city in protest for almost a week, with no sign of an end.

"Why hasn't it been resolved as yet?," asks Cora.

"Oh the usual sort of thing. I heard that tenants are throwing landlords out of their homes and refusing to disclose their rent books. We need the courts to make a decisive ruling," answered Robert.

"And all over 6 d? it doesn't seem to be that much, surely.", observed Edith.

"Maybe not to you, but it is a lot if you earn only ninety-seven shillings a week, and that's the wage for a brick layer. Ordinary labourers barely make forty – five shillings a week. Besides, I hear that the conditions of some of the houses are deplorable. This strike isn't just about the housing, it's really about the need for decent housing. "said Sybil to her father with earnestness in her voice.

"You seem to be very well informed, Sybil dear, "remarked her Grandmother with a voice of intense curiosity, "How is it that you know so much?"

"I read. Can't a person read?"

"There is such a thing as a person reading too much."

"I don't know. A protest doesn't happen in a vaccum. Isn't that why Papa says that our value is to provide good employment? Some of what we do is to keep the peace.", said Mary.

"You are correct, Mary. As is Sybil. A friend of mine who provides legal advice to the Property Owners Association says that the health of some of the tenants is scandalous.", joined in her fiancé.

"Precisely. Surely we must support the strikers!" exclaimed Sybil

"I wouldn't go so far, Sybil, we must support the courts in finding a fair solution, and work on policies that fix the issues without overturning the institution. The landlords aren't increasing the price in a vacuum either.", replied Matthew.

"Oh, Matthew! You haven't started working for the government yet, you _can_ have an opinion.", said Sybil

"That _is_ my opinion, but I'd rather not enter a debate over it."

"Still,", said Anthony, " Leeds is too close for comfort as far as I am concerned."

"Why, are you mistreating your tenants, Anthony?" asked one of his sisters in law archly. I don't have to tell you which one of them that was.

Mary…", warned Matthew good-humouredly.

Mary only smiled and smirked in Edith's general direction. Edith ignored her and decided to change the conversation.

"I suppose Mary's wedding is costing the earth.", she said to no one in particular.

"Half the National Debt, I'm afraid.", joked Robert.

"I suppose we could always cut down the cost by dropping a couple of names off the guest list.", said Mary looking at her sister in a pointed manner.

Anthony and Matthew looked at each other quickly. While Matthew and Anthony are not destined to be the close friends that Matthew and Tom will be, they have a good understanding and know when an intervention is needed.

" Cora, I don't know if Edith has told you that Mr. Howard is retiring. We are thinking of promoting one of the under gardeners, but Mr. Howard doesn't think anyone of them is up to snuff."

Gardens, like horses, are always reliable topics for the English.

"Oh how disappointing. Would you like me to ask for any reccomendations?" replied Cora.

"Mama that would be very kind."

"Mr. Moseley's father is an excellent gardener. He has the most exquisite roses." That was Isobel.

"He isn't looking for work is he?"

"Mr. Molesley is past working age. I don't think he could take too many disruptions, now that Moseley junior is likely to move to London with Mary and Matthew.", said Cora

"Oh, but what about you Isobel?" asks Edith

"I don't really need a butler. I'm quite happy to manage with a maid and a cook."

The Dowager tittered.

"The problem, though, is that Moseley doesn't seem to be overjoyed at the prospect of London. But Matthew and I really want someone who we know and can trust for our small household."

"Who else is going with you to London?" asked the Dowager

"Anna will be my ladies maid, and we are still seeking a cook who will have some housekeeper duties. It isn't a pressing matter, really, we haven't even found a place to live yet."

"Robert very kindly offered Grantham House, but we rather want our own place. Especially if.."

"You are disinherited." Says Edith bluntly, more to Mary than Matthew.

"Our plan is to stay with Aunt Rosamund till we find something. She was so kind as to offer." Mary smiled, remembering the very uncomfortable half hour she had given her aunt.

"Staffing really is such a challenge. Carson tells me he thinks Thomas is getting quite restless. At least Moseley will go to London uncomplainingly because he has loyalty to you, Matthew.", sighed Robert

Anthony Strallan looked like an idea was forming in his mind. I shall spare you the details of what Mary thought his face looked like at that moment. For the sake of charity.

"Do you suppose Moseley the Younger is a capable gardener? We could offer them both a lovely cottage and Senior could advise and help Edith plan the gardens. You are quite right, Isobel, he has a rare hand with roses. Didn't he win the Grantham Cup this year?"

The Dowager emitted a sound that sounded like a snort.

"Darling what a wonderful idea, you are quite brilliant."

"Well, what about us?"

"Oh, of course. I am sure you could find someone. There must be excellent, trustworthy young men who would quite like a life in London. This way, Moseley is not disrupted."

"And Locksley profits."

"Don't start, Mary. I rather like the idea, if the Moseleys accept it. I'm sure we can rely on Carson to help us out."

Mr. Carson only quivers a brow in the background.

Xx

On her way out, the Dowager took her eldest granddaughter to a side and asked her airily if Sybil had any special friends.

"Oh you know Sybil, Granny, she has so many dreary causes. It's quite likely she met some down- and -out woman at one of her charities.

"Her knowledge seemed very specific. "

Mary only gave her Grandmother a rather bored look. The two ladies stared at each other a while, before the Dowager admitted defeat – for now- and went on her way.

Xx

As Mary was dressing for dinner, she appraised Anna of the conversation at tea- time, only to verbalize her indignation at the cheek of the Strallans. Anna was very reflective throughout the conversation.

"I have to tell you milday that Mr Moseley wasn't very happy about the move to London. If you were moving to the Abbey, I don't think he would have minded."

"So you think it's a good thing? My real worry is that our butler in London would need to be someone who can be intensely loyal to Mr Crawley and myself. There is much work ahead of us."

Anna deliberated.

"Milady, have you ever wondered how Mr. Pamuk came to your bedroom that night?"

"Everyday. Anna do you know something?"

"Thomas, the footman, was assigned to Mr. Pamuk that day. The day after he looked quite fidgety, and he always looks very guilty when your name is mentioned in the servant's hall."

Mary calculated quickly, her fine, brilliant brain sketching out a little plan.

"Do you think you could arrange for Thomas to see me for a few minutes after dinner?"

Anna smiled, glad that she and her mistress were on the same wavelength.

"Certainly, milady."

Xx

Thomas the footman is a schemer. Perhaps not to the extent of that master deceiver Sarah O'Brien. However, our Thomas is a schemer with something of a conscience. With regards to the Incident of the Turk in the Night, he has been nursing a feeling of regret and guilt. Some of the guilt, I must admit, is connected to his worry over being found out, but there is still a sense of contrition, all the same. He is a lot more invested, anyway, in making life difficult for Mr. Bates. Any gossip he sent out regarding Lady Mary was instigated by Miss O'Brien.

Anna is also something of a schemer. She is torn about leaving the Abbey, only because it would leave Mr. Bates to the mercy of Thomas and Miss O'Brien. Anna fights fire with fire. Removing Thomas to a place where she can keep an eye on him, and maybe even appeal to the goodness in him, provides her with some relief. Besides, she is aware that a mind like Thomas' if put to good use, can be of use to Lady Mary. Anna is aware of a universal truth, that people only turn to the underhanded when they are in need of something to excite them, when they have time to curdle and feel bitter, or when their circumstances are oppressive. Bad deeds do not happen in a vacuum.

Thomas is nervous as he accompanies Anna to the Pink Room. Everyone knows that that is now Lady Mary's room, and he senses something of a dressing down. Robert and Cora are benign dictators, but the servants are well aware that Lady Mary is every inch the feudal.

"Ah, Thomas, " she says as they walk in, " thank you for coming to see me."

"Might I inquire as to the nature of the summons, milady?"

"Very good, Thomas, very good. I ask you here with a particular request. As you know, Mr. Crawley and I will be moving to London very shortly, and we would like to offer you the post of butler. Of course, you would also be valet to Mr. Crawley. We can provide you excellent compensation and a life in London. Would you like that?"

"Thank you milady. I would have to think about it." Thomas is eager to be in London, but not desirous to valet Mr. Crawley who's future is very much up in the air.

"Of course, of course. You have been a servant at Downton for a very long time, and you are loyal to the family and always have been."

"I have worked for the family a long time, yes milady." Thomas looks very uncomfortable.

"I understand that you looked after Mr. Pamuk when he was here. I wonder if he asked you to give him any tours of the house?"

Thomas is silent. A pregnant silence.

"I am not angry about that, Thomas. In fact, I am glad to know the truth. Thomas, there are many reasons why I have asked you to join us in London. One of which is to suggest that London present you with a kind of new start. More importantly, I recognise a restlessness in you. Mr. Crawley and I are both ambitious people. He may be the Earl one day, but if he is not, as he is terribly, terribly clever, I feel sure that he will ascend to a high office. As his wife, I can help him by entertaining influential people, and being part of powerful circles. A good butler is essential to that kind of social entertaining. Mr. Crawley will need to be properly dressed and supported in his journey. Won't you come and be a part of that journey? I dare say we shall need a man with his ear to the ground."

"That sounds very tempting milady."

"I am not asking for anything underhanded, Thomas. Just good, old fashioned hard work. The way things used to be. And we need your absolute loyalty. I promise it will be rewarded. "

"How soon would you need me? What would I tell Mr. Carson?"

"I will speak to Mr. Carson. I would hope you would be ready to leave with us after the wedding. You would valet Mr. Crawley on honeymoon and then we would all go to London together. As the butler, I would need your assistance with outfitting our residence and hiring the cook/housekeeper."

"I am happy to accept, Lady Mary."

Xx

That night, in the offices of the housekeeper and the butler, there was much rejoicing.

Mr. Bates and Anna also shared a quiet and happy cup of tea. Their romance had not fully blossomed yet but there was a sense of shared attraction. Mr. Bates noted that his mother lived in London and that he intended to visit her often in the coming year. Anna noted that the Crawleys intended to be at Downton every weekend. They both thought with happiness of the years to come, and Mr. Bates pondered the best course with regards to divorcing his wife.

And so, as Miss Austen says, everything was arranged to the felicity of all.


	22. Chapter 22

**Bit of a trigger warning for the end of the chapter.**

 _She is beautiful,_ thought Tom Branson as he watched Sybil emerge from the house on a mild February morning . Clad in a light blue coat and hat, she looked as if all the joy in the world could be contained in her. He opened the door to the car to allow Cora and Sybil inside, thrilling a little at the touch of Sybil's hand as he helped her into the car.

The two ladies were in high spirits on the way to the church. For Cora, there was a sense of relief that Mary was to be married and settled. Sybil was glad for Mary and for Matthew, and extremely pleased that Mary's better nature had shone through in the end. And besides, it was a wedding, who wouldn't be joyful?

Tom watched Sybil in his rear-view mirror. He longed for her and knew already that his life would only feel complete if she was in it. Yet, he knew she was young, and that to declare his feelings would be to ask her to leave everything she knew. Besides, while he did guess that Sybil had a partiality towards him, he was aware that her feelings towards him were still those of friendship. Still, on this wedding day, he could not but dream a little dream. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed his destination. He was called back to earth by a hoot of laughter.

"Mr. Branson, Mr. Branson, you've gone right past the church gates!", laughed Sybil.

"I am so sorry milady."

Giggling like irresponsible schoolgirls, mother and daughter made their way into the church. Cora had a special place in her heart for her beauty , her baby, and with yet another daughter leaving the house, she clung to Sybil a little.

His mind full of the pretty image of Sybil and her mother, Tom drove off to Crawley House to pick up the groom. Again, here, he was met with high spirits and laughter as Matthew and Charles came bounding out of the house in their morning suits. Isobel, watching them, thought of the joy and promise of youth and willed that they would both have great happiness.

"Good morning Mr. Branson, " said Moseley, who, with the aid of the newly minted Mr. Barrow had been overseeing the dressing of the two young gentlemen and a hearty breakfast for the groom.

"Will I see you both at the church?"

"You will, indeed. I am to drive in the front with you and Mr. Barrow will come in the car with Mr. Spratt. He must have collected Lady Grantham by now and should be here shortly for Mrs. Crawley."

"And not a second too late or he'll get a smack from Mr. Carson.", observed Mr. Barrow.

Remembering Mr. Carson's earnest rehearsals for the staff of the day before, Tom had to agree. The butler's brows had been working overtime.

The young men had said their goodbyes to Mrs. Crawley, and were getting in to the car. Tom reflected that he rather liked Mr. Crawley, and even Mr. Blake. He had had the chance to listen to some of their plans while ferrying them to the station. He felt no ill will towards them and thought to himself that they represented an aristocracy that he could cheerfully work alongside.

As they got to the church, Matthew's chatter and banter with his best man slowed a little.

"What is it, man? Nerves?" asked Charles.

"I have to tell you Charles, I'm not quite sure that she will turn up."

Tom laughed. _Odds are she will. But then, even I know that Lady Mary is an unpredictable one._

Xx

Turn up she did, and Mary and Matthew were married in what seemed to them like a blaze of glory.

The Dowager felt almost rhapsodic. Not only had she ensured that, in case Matthew inherited after all, that the Countess of Grantham would be a known entity, but Mary seemed genuinely happy. The Dowager had already started to pull in a few favours with regards to Matthew's career in the civil service, and she felt sure that the combination of social connection and Matthew's natural ability would see him to an illustrious position. And the icing on the cake, not that the Dowager needed one, was that business had called Martha Levinson back to the States, leaving the Dowager as the ruling matriarch of the day.

After the ceremony, everyone trooped back to the Abbey for the wedding breakfast. The guests were an assortment of family, friends, and distant inclusions. It must be said that it was not the high society wedding that the Strallans had had. Matthew was not definitively the heir, and this had contributed to a slight drop in the numbers.

"The problem is, " said Lady Shackleton to her daughter-in-law, when they had received the invitation, " that we don't know if we should purchase a gift appropriate to the wife of the next Earl of Grantham, or the wife of a country solicitor. It's all very vexing."

So, in some ways, the celebration was really quite intimate. Or, as intimate as one can get with a wedding for a daughter of an Earl. The intimacy and lack of numbers stung at Mary a little, but every time she looked at Matthew, she felt that she could bear it all with good grace. When good grace seemed impossible, she took some pleasure from the fact that Edith was, for some reason, looking rather miserable.

"Darling, I can't wait till we can leave and can just be alone together. I am afraid that I cannot quite keep all the guests straight in my head." Matthew is not the social butterfly that is wife is. What's more, he had never seen his wife look more beautiful, and his present longings were not actionable in a room full of people.

"Oh it's very simple, darling. Besides you only need to remember some people. There are Billy and Amelia Skelton, our nearest neighbours. Amelia is all right, but Billy is completely mad. Well, all the Skeltons are mad, really, but nod and smile with them. If my nearest neighbour was what Granny calls _very eccentric_ , I would keep them in my good graces. You need to give some attention to Lord and Lady Heywood, they have the ear of every government minister. Vivian MacDonald is studying for the bar, so he and his parents will be great allies. Freddie Threepwood is as sane as a hat full of pixies, but he will be the next Earl of Pembroke, and that is a peerage that wields a lot of influence. The Montgomerys are only here to gawp and giggle, but make sure you speak to Honoria. We came out together and she is also an ally. You can ignore Aunt Susan if you want to, but Uncle Shrimpie is a darling, and another ally. The Elliotts are good friends of Mama and Papa. Sybil is very intimate with Henrietta Elliott. George and Elinor Spencer are here. In my opinion, _she_ should be put out to pasture, but he is, of course, a cousin of the Duke of Malborough. We should both make sure we speak to him."

Matthew stares at his wife in amazement. " I rather think you would have made a good general."

"I _am_ a good general, Subaltern Crawley."

Xx

As the festivities wound down, Sybil slipped away to the grounds of the house. Mary and Matthew weren't leaving for another half hour, so she felt she could retreat a little from the guests. She walked to the bench under the sycamore tree and sat there in blessed silence.

" Not enjoying the party, then?" asked a familiar voice.

"Hello Mr. Branson. It is a good party, but I felt like a little quiet."

"It's a good day. I am very happy for Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary. "

"It is very romantic. They do love each other immensely."

"You prefer when people marry for love, then?"

"What a strange question. Well, I think it is the best possible reason for marriage, don't you?"

"Lady Sybil, Her Ladyship is looking for you. Lady Mary and Mr Crawley are ready to leave.", interrupted Mrs Hughes, appearing as if from nowhere. Materialization from thin air is lesson the first in the Housekeeper's Handbook.

Sybil hastened to the house. Mrs Hughes looked at Tom kindly. "Be careful my lad, or you'll end up with no job and a broken heart."

Tom nodded at her, but could not stop himself from feeling elated over the substance of his brief exchange with Sybil.

Xx

As the Strallans retire to bed that night, there is not the same feeling of bliss. Edith, now married for six months, is beginning to be a little concerned at the absence of a little Strallan. She knows her husband is a proud man and she cannot approach him too directly on the subject.

"Anthony, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my sweet one. You have been looking very thoughtful all day, I have been concerned."

"It is nothing. I just wondered why you and Frances never had any children. Did you not want any?"

Anthony considers his answer carefully.

" We did give it the old try, but I can't say that there was a concentrated effort. Frances was not very interested in that sort of thing. Of course, we did intend to seal up the succession and all that, but she died only three years into our marriage, you see."

"Three years is still a long time."

"You know, Frances and I were good friends. Old friends. We grew up together, you see. We had an understanding."

"I don't quite understand you darling."

"Frances was a wonderful woman. And like I said, she wasn't very interested in that part of the marriage. She had more singular attractions, if you know what I mean. Of course, I didn't mind. I was happy enough to know that we would have a strong and affectionate marriage. And we would have done our duty in the end. In my generation, a lot went unsaid. "

It took Edith a few minutes to quite understand what Anthony was relating to her. She remembered a silly laugh that she had shared with Annabelle Flintshire over a rumour regarding the Countess of Brandon. She felt a kind of admiration for her husband, although she couldn't quite think why.

"My sweet one, are you anxious that we have no child on the horizon?"

"Yes darling, I ache to have a baby."

"It's early days yet. I am in no hurry. The baby will come in time."

After her husband fell asleep, Edith said a silent prayer. It was a prayer of thanksgiving for the husband she had, and a prayer of hope for the child she longed for.

Xx

A week later, Cora awoke to sharp, stabbing pains in her lower back. She roused Robert who immediately sent for the doctor.

When he arrived, Dr. Clarkson removed Robert from the room and called in Sybil.

"I need you to be ready to assist me, Lady Sybil."

"Of course, Doctor, but what is happening?"

The doctor sat by Cora's bed and took her hand very gently.

"Lady Grantham, I fear that you are in the first stages of a miscarriage. It is something that is always feared when the mother is over forty years of age. My preference is to induce labour, but I do not think that the child will survive, either way. "

Cora cried silently. "Have you asked his Lordship?"

"I will but it is your choice first."

"I want to be able to hold the baby. Even if it is only for a few seconds." And Cora lay back, panting from the pains that were increasing in their frequency.

Several hours later, Arthur Isidore Crawley breathed the first of his few breaths. His sister, who had helped deliver him, wrapped him in soft cloths, her tears dropping down onto his little face.

She placed him in their mother's arms, and went out to call her father.

In the glorious, early light of the morning, Robert and Cora held their son. They whispered to him and sang to him, and that entire hour of his short life was heartbreakingly beautiful. Cora would always remember it as both the happiest and saddest hour of her life.

At the end of that hour, Robert hugged the tiny little body to himself. Lines of poetry from another's grief entered his mind. _Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell._

Xx

 **Sorry to end in such a sad way, please don't be annoyed. Life is both joy and sorrow, and this is my tribute to my three close friends who have all had miscarriages this past year. I think it will make Cora and Robert have a stronger marriage, and will also affect Sybil, Mary and Edith in proportionate ways.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thanks to those who are reading and reviewing. The reviews make me want to post updates!**

TELEGRAM

FROM: S. CRAWLEY, DOWNTON VILLAGE, YORKSHIRE  
TO : M. CRAWLEY, GRAND HOTEL DE BORDEAUX, BORDEAUX

RETURN IMMEDIATELY. STOP. MAMA HAS MISCARRIED. STOP. PAPA REQUESTING YOU BOTH. STOP

Xx

 _March 1, 1914_

 _Downton Abbey_

 _Dearest of husbands,_

 _Well, here I am, writing to you from the Pink Room, where I have, as usual, run away for some quiet. Not that the house is particularly noisy. Mama remains in her room. She is very weak and Dr. Clarkson still advises bed rest. Papa walks around as he did the day we came back. He seems torn between bursting into tears or flying into a rage. It is only his resilient training from Granny that stops him from showing his emotions too vividly. I am glad, in a way. I do not think I can handle Papa being emotional. It was too much for me to hear about the confidence he gave to you._

 _Sybil thinks Papa is acting in an unhealthy manner. Bless her, though, she keeps trying to cheer us all up with suggestions for walks and flower arrangements._

 _Granny has been the most help. She seems to know how to be around Papa. I am grateful for Isobel, too. Between her and Sybil, they are keeping Mama well-nursed. Mama's maid has been eager to help, but she always looks so much like an Angel of Doom, I haven't wanted her near Mama._

 _I have been kept busy administrating the house and a little of the estate. Papa agreed to go to church today, so hopefully he is waking up from his fugue a little. You won't mind if I stay here another two weeks? We have begun our marriage in separation, but let us hope it is_ _not_ _a sign of things to come!_

 _Hope Thomas is working out, he seemed fairly cheerful on the trip didn't he?_

 _A trail of kisses, my darling, to aid you in your work._

 _My best to Aunt Rosamund,_

 _Yours, Mary._

 _Xx_

 _March 10, 1914_

 _Downton Abbey_

 _Dear Niall,_

 _I have just seen the news that the British PM has ordered a vote on Home Rule. What are our plans, how will we organize? I wish I could come to you, but it is not my time yet. There has been grief in the family, and I cannot ask for time away._

 _Be sure to write with your news. All the best to Marie._

 _Your friend,_

 _T. Branson_

Xx

 _Heacham House_

 _March 20, 1914_

 _The Dowager Countess of Grantham_

 _The Dower House,_

 _Downton, _shire._

 _Dear Lady Grantham,_

 _I hope that this letter finds you very well. I remember fondly our shooting trips up in Yorkshire when your late husband was alive. I write to you to raise a most particular issue._

 _As you know, I am one of the junior patrons of the Army Nursing Service. As my husband is Lord Lieutenant of _shire, it seemed an appropriate outlet for my own charitable work. A week ago, a letter of inquiry regarding application to training with our reserve corps was received by our local administrator. The letter was remarked upon as we rarely receive inquiries from young ladies of high standing. Having read the letter myself, I thought I might bring it to your attention, as I believe the writer is one of your granddaughters._

 _It is customary that young women before the age of twenty-one include a letter of permission from their parent or guardian with such a communication. The young lady has only referred us to make inquiries with a Mrs. Reginald Crawley. I hope you do not think it impudent of me to be raising this with you. If I have mistakenly identified this young lady as your granddaughter, I do apologise._

 _A facsimile of the letter is enclosed._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Bernice, Lady Roy._

 _Xx_

Edith walked into her mother's room one bright March morning, carrying an armful of flowers.

"Good morning Mama. Mr. Moseley has sent you some of our earliest blooms." She sat on the bed, as if she were a little girl again, and reached across to kiss her Mother on the cheek. "How are you today?"

"I do feel much better. I just wish I could leave this room.", said the Countess with a weak smile.

"Why don't I see if I can rustle up the footmen to carry you down? Surely it is all right if we set you up in the lawn chair in the garden? It is quite warm today. "

Cora considered. In truth, Dr. Clarkson had pronounced her in good health a few days ago, but she had not felt the relevant energy that would help her to get out of bed and go about her work. Perhaps, though, it was time. She looked over at Edith, who seemed so eager to help, and then around the room in which her son had lived his short life.

"Will you arrange it? Make sure you tell Papa first."

"If I can. I saw Granny dragging him and Mary into the library as I arrived. She looked extremely determined."

Cora raised her eyebrows with concern, and then felt suddenly happy that she had had the energy to feel that worry. It was good to feel something other than grief. She felt now that she would never recover from her loss, but that she could see the point at which the bereavement would be bearable. She smiled to think of the words that Violet had said to her,

 _Arthur will always be with you, in every smile, in every laugh, in every tear. Carry him with you, but choose life, not death._

It helped Cora a little to know that Violet had had a similar experience. She reflected for a moment that Violet had borne her own share of griefs, and yet chose life every time. Indeed, she chose to _fight_ for life every time. Possibly for the first time in her two-decade marriage, Cora experienced a deep sense of love for her indefatigable mother-in-law.

Xx

The Dowager was not angry, she was disappointed. Hands up if you've heard that phrase before and wondered as to its veracity, for all it really means is that the speaker is trying to hide their anger. I have to admit, though, that in the Dowager's case, it is somewhat true. She is disappointed that she did not know the extent to which Sybil has taken this idea of nursing. She had intent to corner Isobel and Dr Clarkson at her earliest convenience, but first, she required a summit with Robert and Mary. If anything, she rather felt that the timing of Lady Roy's letter was most opportune, for it created a distraction for Robert.

She laid the two letters on the desk in the library and insisted that Robert and Mary read through them.

Mary finished the reading and turned to her grandmother with her usual expression of boredom.

"Well. Granny?"

"you're deflecting, Mary. Which leads me to consider that you had some idea of these shenanigans."

"Shenanigans? Sybil is hardly lurking in the shrubbery hoping to accost someone with celery."

"I will not have impertinence, Mary. What is it that leads the young to embrace incivility as a virtue?"

"According to the letter that Lady Roy has seen fit to share, Sybil is only inquiring as to what is needed to apply for a position. Why would you consider that she is asking for herself? I know she is helping one of the maids find a new career. Maybe it is for her."

"I am well aware that Sybil has taken more than a casual interest in the hospital. I have learned from my butler that she asks all manner of unsuitable questions from the patients who frequent the place."

"Sybil is curious about the kind of life that the villagers lead. I champion it."

"Be that as it may, Mary," said her father, " the contents of the letter do not convince me that Sybil's interest is an innocent one."

Mary shrugged but gave up the fight.

"Even if she has an interest in nursing, we all know that it won't come to anything. They will hardly admit her without your permission. I rather think that if we make some kind of fuss, it will only push her towards a more distressing course of action. Why not allow her the freedom to learn as much as she would like at the hospital, but keep her from the nursing? I know Sybil, she would much rather be open about everything."

The Dowager considered. There was an astuteness to Mary's plan that pleased her. Perhaps the knowledge that the family were aware would also rub off some of the romance of the scheme.

"Very well. I take it that you do not intend to hold me back from speaking to Isobel? I am sure she is the chief advocate of this scheme. "

"Granny, I could not stop you from pursuing any path that you wished to pursue. I dare say you may find that Isobel was only a willing participant in a scheme of Sybil's devising. However, if you feel that you must corner and upbraid my mother-in-law, the mother and grandmother of the future Earl of Grantham, then be my guest." Mary's face had resumed its cool mask.

I cannot say that this little skirmish was not enjoyable for both ladies concerned. The present Earl of Grantham, however, found it rather tiring.

"I forbid you to speak to Isobel, Mama. I shall have a quiet word with Sybil. Indeed, I wonder if I may not send Sybil to stay with you in London for a month or two, Mary. You may open Grantham House if you wish. It is Matthew's if he wishes to reside there."

"Sybil would not want to leave you and Mama."

"As soon as Mama is able, I think that I will take her for a short trip to the Italian Riviera. I would be glad to know that Sybil is well chaperoned. Then Mama and I could join you for the start of the season."

Thinking suddenly of the warm gaze that a certain chauffeur had laid upon her sister the day before, Mary could not but agree. She could also assist Sybil in pursuing some of her medical ambitions, but curtail them within the necessary bounds of propriety.

"Do you have any objection, Granny?"

"May I at least take Dr. Clarkson to task?" The Dowager felt as if she had built up a head of steam for nothing.

"Very well, but be gentle. He saved Cora." The Earl waited a beat. "Then we are decided; Sybil is to be taken to London."

Mary nodded, feeling only slightly ashamed that she was subjecting Sybil to the same machinations that she herself so despised. She consoled herself that Sybil was very young, and that their actions were only for the best.

xx

Sybil did not endure the quiet word that her father had with her with any kind of good grace. After all, she was but a little over eighteen, and her response was quite that of the adolescent. She felt, however, that she could appeal to Mary, and to Matthew, and that in London she could find some way to pursue her dreams. After all, is that not why so many flock to metropoles, to chase forbidden dreams?

The night she left Downton, she wrote a little note and entrusted it to Gwen.

 _April 9_ _th_ _1914_

 _Dear Mr. Branson,_

 _Tomorrow I am away to London to spend some time with my sister and her husband. I hope that we can continue to exchange ideas as we have become accustomed to. I am sure that London may provide me many opportunities to procure for you reading materials that do not make their way up to Yorkshire. Do send your 'list' to me at Grantham House._

 _Your friend,_

 _Sybil Crawley_


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi all! Thanks for reading and reviewing! So just to be clear, Matthew is the heir but he won't be Earl for at least another 10 to 15 years, and in my read of him, he is keen to also achieve something of his own. So he will work in the Civil Service (which is quite prestigious, really). If you recall, Charles Blake was doing that sort of thing in the latter seasons, prior to his ascension to his estate in Ulster. It's also not always the reality for the heir apparent and his family to live at the family pile, they generally will be off doing something else and visiting up on weekends. My childhood contained a lot of Wodehouse**

…

A Lady's Purview – By Lady Edith Strallan, special to The Sketch

April 15, 1914

As I write, we hear reports of suffragettes employing destructive techniques in order to protest the position of women in society. We have all been astonished by the incident of April 9th, when a lady, wielding a meat cleaver shattered ten glass cases in the Asiatic section of the British Museum. Across the country, we hear reports of railway stations, pavilions being set fire to or being vandalized. We may all recall the incident regarding the Rokeby Venus in March. Mary Richardson, in her defense of her actions noted that the aim was to procure justice for women.

The incidents raise anew certain questions I put forward in my first column to _The Times_. Therein, I spoke about the role and view of the lady born to high station vis à vis the management and future of estates. In a similar way, we are called to consider the issues of justice for women. We cannot deny the truth of lower wages for women, or the incongruities in women's rights concerning issues such as political franchise and primogeniture. Many ladies of our own stature are themselves involved in this fight for equal rights, such as Lady Constance Lytton.

Yet, the example of militancy, which we have seen pursued by that self-same Lady is not the course of action advocated by this writer. This column acknowledges that it is time for ladies of high stature to support more vigorously the movement for women's rights. However, it advocates the more gentle path of negotiation and petition used by other members of the women's rights movement. We may appeal to the influence that our husbands, fathers and brothers hold in the House of Lords as such patrony can only further the urgent needs of the women's movement. Mrs Pankhurst may declare that a broken window pane is the best placed argument for modern politics, but this writer cannot but disagree. A well-articulated argument at the dining table may easily usurp shattered glass in effectiveness and potency. After all, have us women not influenced the world for centuries by wielding our power in drawing rooms?

Xx

"I cannot decide," said Lady Mary Crawley to her husband over luncheon one Saturday at Crawley House, " if Edith is a revolutionary or dreadfully catabolic."

"I see that you have not cancelled your subscription to The Sketch.", teased her husband.

"Indeed, I did, but I happened to read Isobel's copy this morning.", countered his wife.

"I do admire Edith, she is striking out and broadcasting her opinion.", observed Isobel to her daughter-in-law.

"I notice that you do not seem to agree with her opinion on the subject.", said Mary with a laugh.

"I must admit that I am quite torn. I recently read a piece by Constance Lytton regarding her despair over the unwillingness of policy makers to affect change when it is gently pressed for. Her own conversion to the militancy of the W. S. P.U comes from her frustration that negotiation and petition do not seem to have any real effect.", opined Isobel.

"Surely, Mother, you cannot agree that arson and vandalism should be championed? I heard a rumour that Constance Lytton indulged in a practice of self-mutilation while she was held political prisoner. How is that sort of thing effective? I would not encourage it."

"I don't know. For several months after you were declared the heir and the entail showed itself to be completely unbreakable, I had a few cheerful moments imagining the drawing room go down in flames.", responded his wife with something of a gleam in her eye.

There were a few moments of silence before Isobel emitted something of a girlish giggle. She reflected how glad she was that Matthew's marriage to Mary had allowed her to see the more likeable side of the usually icy veined Lady Mary. She was most pleased that they had decided on Crawley House as their main residence during their weekend visits to Downton.

Mary turned to her mother-in-law with an impish smile. "You know when the Rokeby Venus was slashed, Granny said she didn't mind because she always found it to be monstrously derivative. I surmise that we could recruit Granny to the W.S.P.U if the real agenda were to smash art that she found dreadful."

Isobel giggled again and then sobered. " I do think I am in a bit of a spot with Cousin Violet over this whole business of Sybil. I must say, I was not aware that she had written to the Army Nursing Service. Thus far, her interest had only seemed more or less academic."

"I find myself in agreement with Cousin Violet, Mother. I do think you should stay out of it. It is not for us to become involved in. Robert and Cora and Sybil are the important players here."

Mary snorted at her husband. "Of course you must be involved. You are family. The problem really is that Arthur's death precipitated Sybil's desire to enter into the nursing profession. Until then, she was quite happy learning and observing, and also collecting information on the situation of women's health in the village."

"Is she finding pursuits of interest in London?" asked Isobel.

"She spends a lot of time in the library, perusing medical journals and textbooks. She accompanies me on my errands. I must admit that my primary motive in taking her with us was to give her some time away from Downton."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, a change is a good as a rest.", said Mary airily. While she had confided her suspicions about Sybil and The Chauffeur to Matthew, she did not feel the need to relay that particular secret to Isobel. She was well aware that her mother-in-law might well aid and abet such an unfavourable alliance. Nursing was one thing, but marriage to the chauffeur? She would lose Sybil, and that, Mary could not abide.

"And speaking of a change, it is time I took myself to the Abbey to make the customary rounds with Robert. Are you joining me, darling?" asked Matthew.

"I am afraid not. Granny has summoned me. I will be at the house before dinner, though. Mama and I are mediating the conference of butlers. Barrow and Carson need to arrange the transition of the family to Grantham House for the season, and we need to have the details sorted before Mama and Papa leave. Mrs. Hughes was most insistent that our interposition would be needed at this summit."

"Gracious. Tell me at what time so that I may run for cover. Goodbye." And kissing his mother and his wife on their respective cheeks, the heir of Grantham whistled his way out the door.

"He is happy, then?" asked Isobel of her daughter-in-law

"So happy I worry that the gods will frown upon us."

Xx

From the prospect of one stormy conference, let us take ourselves to another. As soon as she was able, Sybil had slipped away to the garages to see Mr. Branson. She told herself that the purpose of the visit was to lend him a book that she had purchased in London, but as we all know, dear readers, when someone has entered our heart and mind, we feel irrepressibly drawn to their general physical location.

We enter the scene mid-conference.

"What do you mean you are going back to Ireland?" asked Sybil impetuously.

"The time is coming, the fight for Home Rule. Aren't you reading the papers? I must go, I want to be part of the fight.", responded Tom with passion.

"Clearly we aren't reading the same papers. "

"A civil war is coming to Ireland. I want to be part of it, I want to build a new Ireland."

"So you will abandon your employment?"

"I thought you would admire my principles."

"I am not sure it is the right war for you. Haven't you said that education is the revolution? You can do that from here."

"Sometimes action is the right path. I have had a letter from a friend, and I think it is my time now."

"I will ask Papa to forbid you from going. He won't want his chauffeur involved in a militant action.", she cried.

"You will ask him to forbid me? This is very disappointing. I thought you were different.", he spat back.

There was silence for a few minutes. She looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"I would worry for you. I do not wish to see you come to harm, or imprisoned."

This quieted his anger. "What if I promise not to go until it is absolutely necessary?"

"I have your word?"

"You have my word."

She smiled and turned to go back to the house, for she had a pressing appointment. Behind her she heard this said softly, as if he was whispering his hopes to the wind,

"Your letters are the brightest part of my week."

Xx

Mr. Carson was in a tizzy. His brows knitted together furiously as he hastened to the library where Cora sat embroidering.

"Your Ladyship, am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all Mr. Carson. Whatever's the matter? You look quite animated."

"I wonder if I may request Your Ladyship's presence in the kitchens."

Her curiosity now at a hilt, Cora followed him thither.

The two stood in the entry way to the kitchen and watched the spectacle therein. A few young ladies stood around mixing batter for a cake. A perfectly ordinary occurrence in a household such as Downton Abbey. What elevated the scene to the level of spectacle, at least in Carson's mind, was that one of the ladies was Lady Sybil.

"I hope I was right to bring this to your attention, Your Ladyship."

"Perfectly right, Carson."

"I would have stopped it if I had known, but it would seem that Lady Sybil had arranged this for a time when I would be out doing errands in the village."

"Then it is her secret, and Lady Sybil has had too many of her secrets exposed lately. It is now our secret, Carson."

Her innate motherly wisdom told Cora that to remark upon this would be potentially disastrous for her relationship with her daughter. She smiled wistfully. Mary and Edith were now married and doyennes of their household. Arthur was taken to God. Where was life leading her dearest Sybil?

Xx


	25. Chapter 25

**Your reviews are so very lovely! The Dowager would like to have you round for tea. She may even serve crumpets. On with it, then.**

There is a consummate pleasure to incense. It rises, languorously ,from its censer in parturient clouds, inciting the mind to belief in a God or gods. Incense cleanses, electrifies, awakens. If you have ever walked into a Catholic church or a Hindu temple for morning worship, the simmering clouds of incense will provoke your soul to its oldest memories, to the possibility of the transcendent, of that something that is just out of reach of your mind's eye.

Sybil Crawley, standing hidden in a side pew of the Westminster Cathedral, watches the priest incense the altar and ponders the transportive capacity of the aroma of cedar and teak. She has a fleeting memory of hiding in her father's cedar lined trunk as a child, and then another of her first experience of nature.

You may ask why Sybil Crawley, whose family's allegiance to the Church of England goes all the way back to the gleam that Henry VIII had in his eye when he espied the nubile figure of Anne Boleyn, is standing in a Catholic cathedral . To answer, we must look to the date; May 26th 1914. The day prior, the House of Commons had passed the bill on Irish Home Rule, and Sybil felt incomprehensibly drawn to the Cathedral. Certainly not for worship; even our non-judgemental Sybil cannot help wonder if there isn't something of the heathen about all those saints and rituals and flagellations. Maybe she simply wanted to hear the musical lilt of an Irish voice, or show some solidarity with how much power the English could have over another nation. Maybe we will never know the reason, but there she is. In years to come, when she and Tom are living as Mr and Mrs Branson in Dublin, Sybil will remember this morning and think of it, oddly, as the first morning of _their_ lives together. Of course, Sybil is not thinking of marriage to Tom in this very moment. So far, she only allows herself to think that Tom is her dear, dear friend. It will take the events of the war to make Sybil truly feel that she can cross the line from friendship into love.

The Mass is ended, and Sybil feels a small hand at her elbow. Turning, she finds herself under the uncomfortable scrutiny of a rather wizened nun. Here is a universal truth about nuns- even the kindliest of nuns can fix you with a look that excoriates you to your core. Or, in Crawley family parlance, the look that Granny gets if you hold your knife incorrectly.

"May I help you young lady? Did you need to speak with Father? He won't take Confession till an hour before Vespers."

"No, no, I heard that much of the Cathedral reconstruction was complete and I wished to see inside."

"Daily Mass is not a spectator sport. Tours of the Cathedral may be requested at the presbytery. This is a sacred space."

"Of course, I am so sorry. Good day."

"Good day." The nun watches Sybil until she exits and then goes to help Father in the sacristy. She reminds herself to give him a short lecture on being more aware of those attending Daily Mass. That, she felt, was the problem with the Cardinal's scheme of ordaining men who were barely out of their teens. Not an ounce of common sense or backbone among them. Apparently, the new priest at Our Lady of Perpetual Help jumped at loud noises. Offering some regret to the Lord over her irreverent attitude towards presbyters, the nun went on her way.

Meanwhile, Lady Sybil Crawley, willing the aroma of incense away from her skirts, is hurrying to St. James' Square where her Mama and staunchly Anglican Papa are meant to arrive after three weeks of holiday.

Xx

One could never accuse Mary Crawley of being overly religious. Mary is, in some ways, a creature of duty, and she will attend church service because it is expected, and defer to the Church in matters of spiritual guidance. The aristocracy and the clergy in the United Kingdom enjoy a symbiotic relationship, with many younger sons of the aristocracy often choosing the church as a career. It is, therefore, a relationship built on internal rivalry and mutual distaste for the rabble. The church generally does as it is told, and the aristocracy generally need to keep the church on their good side in order to maintain good will.

Indeed, as we encounter Mary in the sitting room at Grantham House, she is writing a letter to Mr. Travis at Downton village to thank him for his support of one of her local charities. She is interrupted by her butler.

"Your Ladyship, I just wanted to inform you that Mr. Bates and Miss O'Brien arrive fifteen minutes ago with the luggage. His Lordship and Lady Grantham stopped to pay a call on Lady Strallan and sent the cases on ahead."

"Thank you, Barrow. Are you quite ready for the invasion?"

"Perfectly, Your Ladyship. Mr. Carson and I have worked out a strict schedule. As you know, he will be here next week to oversee the various social events."

"You mustn't mind being under-butler for a month, Barrow. It is his Lordship's house, yet. Did you have a chance to look over the particulars of the two houses that I gave to you?"

"I did, milady. I found the servant's quarters of the smaller house at Montrose Place to be very agreeable, and the service area to be most suitable for preparing for full dinners. "

"Excellent, for it is the property that Mr. Crawley and I have finally settled on. In that case, Mr. Barrow, I give you leave to begin the search for a cook/housekeeper. I leave it all in your hands, but perhaps you can consult a little with Mrs. Bute and Mrs. Patmore while she is here?"

"I will begin at once, your Ladyship. "

"Lovely. And Barrow, have you seen Lady Sybil today? She was nowhere to be found when I came down after breakfast, I would not want her to be absent when my parents arrive."

"Lady Sybil left right after breakfast, your Ladyship. She said she wished to take in the portrait exhibition at the National Gallery."

Mary raised eloquent eyebrows. "The Gallery must open earlier than I expected."

"Hello, hello, hello.", said the Earl of Grantham bounding unannounced into the room.

"Goodness, Papa, how did you come in?"

"Through the door. The footman let us in. Ah, Barrow, some tea, there's a good man. What have we missed?"

"Only some races and a rather silly party at the MacDonalds. Matthew and I have been playing recluses this season. Aunt Susan keeps threatening a ball. Where is Mama?"

"Gone to take off her hat. Ah, London. When a man is tired of London he is tired of life!."

"But apparently he receives a boost when he holidays in Italy."

"Don't mind Papa, " said Cora as she came in, " he's actually giddy to be back in London."

"I have spent quite a few weeks holding your shopping bags, my dear. I am glad for my pocketbook, if anything else."

Cora smiled at him sweetly. "Mary, darling, we invited Anthony and Edith to dinner tonight. "

"I will have to let Barrow know. Tom Bellasis is coming, too. I think he is in rather hot pursuit of Sybil. I wasn't sure if I should let him come, but Sybil seems to like his company. He makes her laugh, which is good. How is Edith?"

Cora smiled brightly. Maybe too brightly. "Edith is very happy."

"Has Anthony Strallan done something slightly less than humdrum?. Oh don't look at me like that Mama. Come, let's go up and you can show me your purchases. Papa, Mr. Murray delivered a stack of papers for you yesterday. Barrow has laid them out for you in the library."

"No rest for the wicked.", said the Earl, bounding out of the room in a manner not dissimilar to his Labrador.

Xx

The dinner that night is really quite festive. Mary is a wonderful hostess, and her style is well complemented by Barrow. The intimate nature of the party also allows for a little relaxation. As always, conversations happen in twos around the dinner table. Let us flit from one to another.

 **Lady Sybil Crawley and the Hon. Tom Bellasis:**

"So there we were, all set up for the hunt, the pack of dogs let loose before us and my horse, Pirate, stands and considers for a moment, completely ignoring my urging. Then, he turns around and walks back to the stables, still with me on his back. We couldn't get him to budge the rest of the day."

"Goodness, what did you do?"

"Sat back at the house with a cocktail. I was jolly embarrassed, I can tell you. "

"Perhaps your horse has an opinion on hunting?"

"A socially minded horse? Why not, why not. I shall change his name to Ewart."

 **Lady Mary Crawley and the Countess of Grantham:**

"It's good to see Sybil laugh over a silly story. She's been so very serious these days, pursuing her books and schemes. I am afraid that Matthew and I have not done much to get her out socialising."

"Is she still very intent on nursing?"

"I think so. Honestly Mama, I think she just wants to feel useful. She has no interest in the things that other young ladies do. You know, dresses, parties, young men."

"I don't mind that. I never wanted you girls to be too silly, and all three of you have been brushed with a little bit of something serious, I am glad to say."

"Hmm. Although I did feel a little girlish when I saw the lace cuffs on your new morning dress. Would you mind if Anna took a look at it? I would rather like to trim one of my dresses with a similar pattern."

"Of course, darling. I brought back some sketches for Madame Swann, we could go over them tomorrow if you like."

"I am glad to see you doing so much better Mama, truly I am. How is Papa?"

"You know your father, stiff upper lip and all that. He's carrying on, and doing it rather splendidly."

 **Earl of Grantham and Sir Anthony Strallan:**

"There are rumblings in Europe you say? There were rumblings when Edith and I were on our honeymoon too. I am afraid Europe is always full of rumblings, Grantham."

"I feel a sense of foreboding this time, I must say. Have you not felt that 1914 so far has been a most unstable year? Too many strikes and political actions. I am glad none of my girls felt the need to wield a meat cleaver, but Sybil spent a few weeks in cautious solidarity with the strikers in Leeds. Something may have to give."

"There may be civil war in Ireland. Dangerous business, Home Rule. My cousin Bartholomew who is with the East India Company says that there is similar chafing in the Subcontinent."

"I would say that such chafing often comes to nothing, but Ireland will dispel us of that fantasy. If war comes to Europe, it will not help us to have any kind of civil unrest."

"Let us hope war does not come. The waste of lives, the disruption of families. I would not wish to go away to war, certainly not now."

"I understand, Strallan. Although, war also allows for profitable investments, infrastructure. There is an arms race surrounding us, and we may have to bow to the inevitable."

"You make a good point, Grantham, but I hope the Lord spares us from it."

"Amen, Amen. Till then, a focus on the joys that the season may bring us."

"Indeed. Is your mother not coming up this summer?"

"She will be here next week. Isobel and Mama will drive up. I can't wait, they are bringing Isis with them. Well, I have entrusted Isis to the chauffeur, Branson, and he is driving the ladies."

 **Mr. Matthew Crawley and Lady Edith Strallan:**

"How are you finding work, Matthew? Is it very different from your work as a lawyer?"

"Not too different. Quite a lot of paperwork and reports. Charles and I will be on a tour of estates in Scotland in August, so that we can collect some empirical information for the policy proposals we are drafting. I'm sure it all sounds dull to you. How is your column?"

"it doesn't sound so very dull. I am taking a little summer break from my column, the editors are very kind to allow me this flexibility."

"Ah, well I hope you go back to it. I particularly enjoyed your thoughts on the women's movement, although I don't think Mary did."

"I am surprised Mary reads my column. Speaking of Mary, I overheard her telling Papa that you have settled on a house. Why aren't you just staying here?"

"We wanted something of our own. It's also a little tricky for us to be claiming this house as our continued residence when your parents have first rights to it for whenever they are in London. We'd rather like a separate life until we have to shoulder the burdens, as it were. Besides, property is always a good investment and we decided that Mary's share of your Grandfather's trust would be most advantageously used in that way. Who knows, in twenty years' time our bachelor son may use it as his London stomping grounds."

" Quite. When do you move?"

"As soon as the season ends. Mary will be at her leisure to set up the house in August, before joining me at your Uncle Shrimpie's for the customary Scotland trip."

" How jolly. We're coming up too. Anthony's looking forward to the Ghillies Ball."

As the ladies rise for the end of dinner, Edith walks over to her husband and places a hand on his shoulder

"Listen everyone, we wanted to make an announcement. Well, an announcement for my sisters, really. We are expecting to welcome a little Strallan at Christmas time."

"Oh Edith! How simply marvellous!", said Sybil walking across the room to kiss her sister on the cheek.

"Indeed. Many congratulations, Anthony and Edith. Barrow, won't you bring a bottle of champagne to the drawing room?", said Mary, quite genuinely.

Xx

Her sincerity was not missed by her husband. As they got into bed that night, he pulled her to him and gave her a long, sweet kiss.

"I was very proud of your generosity towards Edith tonight."

"I am happy for her. She has made no secret of wanting a baby. Although, with those two for parents, it's sure to be a boring little thing."

"Don't be unkind, Mary. Not when I have just rejoiced over your charity."

"Matthew, darling, it is not for my charity that you love me. It is for my verve and spirit. Come closer, I feel as if I haven't seen you properly today. How was your day?"

"Long and busy. I had luncheon with Reggie Swire, he has asked me to look over some investment contracts for him. He is an estimable man and I am very fond of him."

"As you were of his daughter, not too long ago?"

"This feels like a trap."

"Not at all. But darling you work so very hard. Even on the weekends, you have Downton on the brain. Try to take some time for a little fun."

"And what would you propose for a little fun?"

"All sorts of things.", said Mary, and, drawing him to her, she spent the rest of the night capably demonstrating to him exactly the sort of fun she had in mind.


	26. Chapter 26

**Gracias for all the reviews. I am having so much fun writing this out. I just watched S2 and remembered what an omnishambles it was. Well back to it, then. As a wee note, I pull my research for these chapters from an assemblage of historical books, fiction and the fact that I am a survivor of a British History A Level.**

On June 28, 1914 a shot rang out through Europe and the rest of the world. An Austrian Archduke fell over, the green plumes of his helmet scattering in his car. He cried out to his wife, who had collapsed by his feet. "Sophie, Sophie, you must live for our children." Then, as he died, he cried out over and over again, "It is nothing, It is nothing."

It was not nothing. The shooting of the Archduke precipitates the players in our story into a war that leaves seventeen million dead and twenty million wounded.

The news breaks in London the next day and the _The Times_ carries no less than seven news articles, reports and commentaries on the event. The event is seen as a dreadful princely murder, and a family tragedy, for the Archduke's wife Sophie was also murdered.

The servants downstairs are abuzz with the news, and the same goes for those breakfasting upstairs. Robert looks grim and thinks back to his conversation with Anthony. War was coming, and it would either be in Europe or a civil war in Ireland. _Isn't the chauffeur Irish?_ _I hope he's on the right side. If war comes, Matthew will fight, he's that sort of chap._ And Robert looked over at his son-in-law and heir with deep fondness.

Xx

Lady Rosamund Painswick was also thinking of Matthew, although not with the same parental fondness that Robert did. Indeed, Lady Rosamund wasn't sure where affection came into it. Matthew was the heir now, and Mary's husband. He was another part of The Great Game. It was the Game she thought of as she strolled through the park with her eldest niece.

"Edith is blooming. Pregnancy agrees with her. I notice it has also brought out some affection from you.", she observed to Mary.

"Not at all. She was wilting all over the place. Edith herself is bad enough, an overly morose Edith is unbearable. It is easier to have her happy. "

"And what about you and Matthew? No plans for a little Crawley?"

"Not at the moment. I must admit, Mama losing the baby while we were on holiday rather shook us up a little. I think we both resolved to enjoy each other for a while before the duty of children came along. Besides, Matthew is starting a new career, and we haven't even moved to Montrose Place as yet. Papa is hardly a geriatric. We have bags of time."

"All the same, it is important to have the succession sewn up."

"We _are_ eager to have children, but we are determined to exercise as much control over our lives as we can."

"You are the future of Downton, your lives are not your own."

Xx

Later that evening, Sybil, Matthew and Mary ride together to a ball for the daughter of the Earl of Malmesbury. As the ladies descend from the car, Mary notices the warm and friendly smile that passes between her sister and the chauffeur. Branson, having brought the elder Crawley ladies up to London, had agreed to stay and provide some services for the summer.

Allowing Sybil to walk ahead of them, Mary turns to her husband.

"I think it may be time for you to have a little talk with Branson."

"What about?"

"Sybil. It may be good to gently remind him of the boundaries and limits of such a friendship."

"Mary. A chap can't talk to another chap about that sort of thing. "

"Darling don't be thick headed. You aren't another chap as far as Branson is concerned. You are going to be the head of the family. You won't only be dealing with the estate and the tenants, you also have to administrate the family. It _has_ to be you. Papa would just sack him. I don't want Branson to lose his job over what is quite likely an innocent friendship."

Matthew stops and kisses his wife's hand.

"I accept your commission. I think it's wonderful that you want to save his job. If only the world knew that Lady Mary was truly Lady Bountiful."

Mary shrugged. " He's a good chauffeur. We can't just sack staff willy nilly. That is the point of families like us, we employ."

"You are very full of duty today. Ah, Charles! There you are!", and Matthew turns to greet his friend.

"Matthew. Mary. Come, I must take your husband away for he has people to meet. You won't feel abandoned?" teased Charles. He and Mary now had the kind of easy friendship that a man and a woman can have.

" I will lay the blame on you and not him. Bring him back safe, I'll go find Sybil."

As Mary slogs through the crowd in search of her sister, she hears a familiar 'hello' behind her. It is Henry Talbot, looking very brown and healthy.

"How about a dance?", he asks

"I'm trying to find my sister."

"A spin around the floor will help that more than your current effort. Come on."

They take to the floor and ease into a two-step, causing many an observer to note what a handsome couple they made. Henry Talbot shared this view and sighed a little to himself that Lady Mary was so very much in love with the Crawley fellow.

"Do you see your sister?"

"Yes, dancing with Tom Bellasis."

"Is that good? No title, I think!" he teased.

"He has money, though. Which is more than can be said for you. How was Biarritz?"

"Fantastic. I will be on break for the rest of the summer, then a quick race at home in the autumn. Bring yourself and that husband of yours."

"I might. Oh, I see Evelyn Napier. I haven't heard from him in ages."

"Do you know he's engaged to one of the Semphill girls?"

"Which one? The one who gossips or the one with the nose?"

"Haha. Her nose is all right. It must be the gossip."

"Goodness, when did this happen? Last I saw him he was making supplications to Edith."

"Oh the usual thing. House party at her father's country place in April, where the lady blushed a roseate hue every time the gentleman came in the room, a few letters exchanged in May, a meeting in June and voila! A betrothal. Nothing too alarming."

"He should have moved that fast with Edith."

"I understand that the Strallans are very happy."

"Yes, they are. And you seem to be very well informed."

"I am staying with my all-knowing aunt."

"Well it makes you good company. Why don't you come up for my parent's garden party in August? Matthew and I intend to stock the decks with a lot of young folk. Maybe we can find you a young heiress or two."

"How could I resist such an invitation?"

"All right Talbot, give a fellow back his wife.", said Matthew appearing near them. With the greatest reluctance, Talbot releases Mary to her Matthew. Mary always wonders whether she could have liked Talbot if he had money or a position, and if her love for Matthew wasn't so overwhelming. _We would have had a happy and affectionate marriage._ Those were Matthew's words about a possible life with Lavinia. She half laughs to herself thinking how the universe always ensures back up plans.

Xx

The family returns to Downton at the end of July. Mary and Matthew go with them to help prepare for the Grantham's annual garden party. Matthew and Charles will continue on to Scotland from there. Mary will return to London to set up the house at Montrose Place.

Sybil smiles as she looks out the train at the rolling countryside. Her hiatus in London had been very pleasant, but she longed for the vast stretches of the Yorkshire landscape. She had also compiled several notes on treatments for women's illnesses that she wished to discuss with Dr. Clarkson. As a gift, Mary and Matthew had given her Hildegard of Bingen's classic work _Physica_ and she had dreams of writing a similar tome for her own time and the women she was meeting.

Dreams had to wait, though. A harrumph from her father brings her back to Earth.

"What is it Papa?"

"Asquith has proposed a mediation conference, but it doesn't seem to have had any response from Berlin or Vienna.", he responded.

"If Germany goes to war, with Britain follow?" asks Cora.

"Britain will side with France, whatever happens.", says Matthew, " I do not envy Asquith at this time. The breakdown of the Buckingham Palace talks over Irish Home rule is headache enough."

Mary sees Sybil about to weigh in and decides to shift the conversation. It would not do for her mother to pick up on just _how much_ Sybil knew about Irish struggles. Matthew had yet to speak to Branson.

"Do you suppose the car has arrived at Downton yet? Granny must have enjoyed grilling Barrow and Branson on the way. She knows how to pick up all the necessary gossip."

"You seem to have picked up all the gossip from Henry Talbot. He ought to leave racing for journalism.", remarked Matthew, not a little jealously.

"Mr. Talbot cannot help his aunt. I dare say she was more informed on Edith's pregnancy than I was.", observed Cora with a shake of her head.

"Edith is too ebullient about her condition. I dare say she would tell anyone who would listen.", said Mary scornfully.

"I do have to agree. One mustn't tempt fate.", joined in Rosamund.

"I remember when I was to have Mary. I danced from room to room.", said Cora smiling at her eldest.

"Then it is confirmed. Child-bearing has brought out the American in Edith!", laughed Mary.

"Goodness, Mary, you really _are_ turning into Granny.", cried Sybil.

At which everyone in the carriage enjoyed a hearty laugh at Mary's astonished face.

Xx

When they arrive at Downton village, most of the party departs for the Abbey for baths and a rest. Mary and Matthew head to Crawley House. After a refreshing cup of tea, Matthew sets off to walk up to the big house. He intended to speak to Mr. Branson. With all the family swirling around Grantham House, it had been difficult to find a private moment. The garages at the Abbey were at enough of a remove to afford the isolation that Matthew felt was fitting.

He finds Tom leaning against a tree by the garages, sipping some tea. He looks out at the gardens and looks very thoughtful. Only the thought of Mary's opprobrium makes Matthew disrupt him.

"Hello Mr. Branson."

"Mr. Crawley, did you require the car, sir?"

"No, not at all. I was just stretching my legs. It's been a long journey. Won't you join me for a walk?"

Tom hesitates. It is rather unusual to be asked to take a walk with a family member. Then he remembered Mr. Barrow's remark that Mr. Crawley often forgot about those divisions. Tom is not one to refuse a friendship that breaks down barriers, as we know. He nods his assent and the two men make their way towards the small creek in the south part of the gardens. They are silent for a while before Matthew awkwardly remarks on how good the weather is. Tom agrees and notes that the paper forecasts rain for the end of the week. The two men commiserate and discuss proper waterproofing for car mats. This carries them for a few minutes. Matthew is feeling increasingly embarrassed. He decides to engage the man on politics. He was sure Robert had made a disparaging remark regarding the chauffeur's politics.

"You must have been following the Buckingham Palace conference very closely, Mr. Branson."

"I did, sir. It is disappointing when mediation does not work, however, it is important that the principles of Home Rule be adhered to. Ireland must govern herself."

"Well said. I am afraid the events in Europe may refocus the attention of the British cabinet."

"That would also be disappointing, sir."

"I admire your passion, Mr. Branson." Matthew waits a few beats. " My sister -in-law, Sybil, is also someone with a lot of passion for politics, social justice, special causes. She certainly enlivens our long dinners."

"Lady Sybil is certainly very different."

"I think difference is key, here. Listen, Branson, old chap, I'm just going to come out with it. We know- Lady Mary and I- that there is something of a friendship between yourself and Lady Sybil."

Tom hung his head for a while.

"I'll hand in my notice." He said bitterly.

"No, no, nothing of the sort. I…listen…this is jolly delicate… it is important that you know about the differences, the barriers. There can't be very much more to this friendship. That there is a friendship at all is already problematic."

"I am aware of the social divisions, sir. I have no dishonourable intentions." Tom speaks with some anger.

"That's a relief to hear. I don't see why you cannot continue to be friends, so long as.."

"So long as I keep my place."

"Anger isn't helpful, Mr. Branson. She was nurtured for a very ,very different life. She has been very sheltered. Their version of normal is exceptionally removed from anything you or I were brought up to understand."

"Even if there was a very great love? Lady Mary would have been the wife of a country solicitor." Branson could take the Dowager in a battle of the wits, if he needed to.

Matthew considered and answered with some agitation to his tone,

"Mary's journey would not have been as long as the one that Sybil will have to take. Even with Downton as our destiny, and my being part of the family, there are still many changes and limits she has had to face. It does test our marriage. You and Sybil would face almost insurmountable odds. I know you see that. I speak to you frankly, man to man, because I am motivated by charity and not entirely unenlightened motives."

"I don't take well to charity."

"Do you care for her?", Matthew demanded.

"I will not deny it."

"Do you plan to ask her to elope with you?"

"I do not think she quite reciprocates my feelings."

"And if she does?"

"Then it will be her decision."

Matthew looks away for a minute. Then he said,

"I will only ask that you consider this well. Society will need to undergo a revolution before things are easy for that kind of alliance. That, or you will need to be very much in love, and very much willing to scale the mountain of obstacles in your way."

"Sir, if it is the latter, will you support us? If I promise you that my intentions are honourable and I will not steal her away like a thief in the night?"

"If Sybil chooses to make her life with you, and if you promise these things then yes, Lady Mary and I will stand by you. You may not be welcome at Downton while the present Lord Grantham is alive, but that will not be true for my time as Earl."

 _I will have to convince Mary,_ says Matthew to himself, not relishing the prospect of that particular conversation, but knowing that his wife is a fair-minded person. The thing is, the discourse he has had with Tom has only made Matthew admire the chauffeur. He seems noble and moral, and that is the kind of man Matthew has time and generosity for.

"Thank you, sir."

Matthew puts out his hand and shakes Tom's. Relieved that he has followed through on his promise to Mary, more or less, he heads back to Crawley House.

Tom, quite honestly, doesn't know what to think. He had never spoken out loud of Sybil to anyone before this. _Mr. Barrow is quite right about Mr. Crawley. He's a fair man._

Tom heads back to the garage for a much-needed spot of whisky.

Xx

August 4th 1914 dawns bright and beautiful, the perfect weather for a garden party. Seated beneath the tent on the lawn, Edith Strallan, now five months pregnant smiles at all around her and cannot believe that any bad could happen in the world.

Cora and Robert walk around, greeting their guests and sipping champagne. They are in their element as Earl and Countess of Grantham and as they look across the lawn to where Mary and Matthew stand in a group of friends, they toast a future that looks so very bright.

Isobel and Violet sit with Lord and Lady Russell listening to their plans for extending the greenhouse at Haxby. Mr. Branson runs across the lawn and tells Sybil of Gwen's good news. She squeals in delight and heads to the serving tent, much to alarm of Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Barrow mysteriously converses with Dr. Clarkson. Sir Anthony carries a plate of ices and cakes to his wife and sits by her feeling as if he is the king of the world.

Matthew notices his brother in law and thinks fondly of the day when he and Mary will also be similarly happy. He smiles at her as the band strikes up the _Saraband_.

"I would call for a dance if I could, " said Henry Talbot.

"It is a glorious day. It's is hard to think that clouds are gathering elsewhere., said Charles Blake.

"Oh Charles, cheer up. We shall be happy today, come with me to introduce Henry to Charlotte Darnley. I think they have the makings of a good match. "

"Is this what you do for former suitors? What a service!" laughed Charles.

"I'd stay clear of my wife, Charles. Once she's done with Talbot, it will be you and then Gillingham.", warned Matthew with a roguish smile at the lady in question.

"I can handle my own affairs, and I hear Gillingham is now besotted with Emma Buchan. Although that's Tony all over, always worshipping at the altar of some goddess or other."

The group burst into some very silly laughter.

Suddenly they heard Lord Grantham shouting over the band. They turned to him.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. I very much regret to announce that we are at war with Germany."

And so let us leave our players at this critical juncture, ending the second part of our journey with the Crawleys. When we return, it will be in the midst of war, and the Crawley sisters will be facing the first great challenge of their lives.


	27. Chapter 27

**Believe me, M/M are endgame, as are Sybil and Tom. Unlike Julian Fellowes, I don't have to worry about Dan Stevens running off to America to become thin and Beastly :D. I just enjoy Mary having a frisson of attraction to Henry Talbot. A quick short chapter because I am eating a grapefruit.**

 **Xx**

 _It will all be over by Christmas. Isn't that what they said? What an awful, awful waste,_ thought Lady Mary as she read the newspaper reports of the war on Christmas morning 1914. Her first Christmas as a married woman and her husband was not two months gone to fight in a war that she could only see as pointless. Of course, Matthew had wanted to volunteer right away, and only her almost hysterical pleading had stayed his hand till October. Then, Charles Blake received his summons and there was no stopping Matthew. She wondered where he was, probably somewhere in France, celebrating Christmas without her. His last letter had been chatty, no real details. All he seemed to want was news of home. She pressed her head against her pillow and indulged in a few shaky tears.

When she went down to breakfast, her cool mask showed no trace of her emotional morning. After Matthew had gone off, Mary had temporarily closed the London house and she and Anna had decamped to Crawley House. In the initial worry of Matthew leaving, staying with Isobel had seemed the most bearable path. After all, Barrow had left almost as soon as the war was announced, having accepted a place in the medical corps. There was much solidarity to be had at Downton, as well as much change. Isobel was much occupied with administrating the hospital, which had only just started accepting wounded men. Sybil was on a training course at an auxiliary nursing college in York, and Papa was fulfilling the duties of the Lord Lieutenant until such time as he was called up. Mary felt that she was in some kind of beastly waiting room. She filled her days assisting her Papa with some management of the estate, taking over some of the duties Matthew had overseen. With more and more men going to the front each day, there were serious decisions to be made and Mary wondered if she shouldn't take a leaf from Sybil's book and undertake some self-training. At the very least, study would fill the void.

"Good morning , dear. You have a letter.", said Isobel.

"Thank you. How are you this Christmas morning?"

"As well as can be expected. Robert sent a message that they would meet us all at church for service and then we could take a ride with them to the house. Are you staying the night?"

"I thought I might. I hope you do too. Sybil is back for Christmas and the New Year, so it should be fairly festive. We must keep our spirits up."

"The letter in your hand should do just that."

Mary had thrilled to see the handwriting on the envelope, but waited till breakfast was over so that she could read it in private:

 _My dearest, darling Mrs. Crawley_ ,

 _I dreamt of you last night. We were in the garden of our little home, and you wore your light blue dress. It was just a dream of you laughing and looking at me with all the love in the world in your eyes. Yet, it gave me great warmth and hope. I am here for King and Country, but I can't deny that it is jolly hard sometimes. Mostly because I am away from you my darling._

 _Thank you for your cheery letter. How you made me laugh when you described the téte-a-téte 's between Mother and Cousin Violet! Mother is very glad you are staying with her at Crawley House. She wrote to me singing your praises! It stops her from worrying, and it gives me peace to think of you both together._

 _Your plan to study estate management is a brilliant one. Why did we not think of a more formal set of studies for you before? I have enclosed a list of titles you may wish to peruse and have written to Charles that he may advise you as well._

 _Mr. Branson sent me an American magazine on electric vehicles. It was rather out of the blue, but the note he sent along with it stated that he hoped it might give me some 'distraction from the destruction.' It has been an interesting read on long nights. Would you let him know my thanks?_

 _I should get my leave in mid-February. Officers are given leave every three months, but my poor batman says he will have to wait another ten before he is allowed time away. It feels quite wretched, this discrepancy. But, my darling, only think that in February I will have two whole weeks with you!_

 _Until then, a kiss and a merry Christmas from your Dull Boy._

Xx

Anthony Strallan was a wreck. As they arrived at Downton Abbey for tea after the church service, Edith's pains had begun. Dr. Clarkson had come in haste and Anthony and Robert had been dispatched with little ceremony to the library. Men were not wanted at this time.

Robert kept plying his son-in-law with scotch, but it did little to keep Anthony's mind at ease.

"Think of it this way, man, at least you aren't miles away in a trench not knowing your wife is giving birth. "

"That is something. Have you not been summoned either?"

"No, not yet. It seems that they don't want me. And you?"

"The younger men will be called first. I am an older man with a pregnant wife. They are merciful. To be honest, Grantham, I don't think I could face another war. It's a young man's game."

"That is true, and yet I do long to be of some use."

A knock on the door sends both men to their feet. Sybil appears, now dressed in her uniform of auxiliary nurse.

"You better come up and greet your son, Anthony."

"Congratulations!" cries Robert, pumping Anthony's fist up and down, "Carson, some wine for the servants! My first grandchild." And with that, the two gentlemen run up the stairs to Edith's bedroom.

They find a tired but exuberant Edith, surrounded by an admiring circle of womenfolk. Even Mary, who is quite impressed with the five hours of labour her sister had gone through. There is something so very sacred about birth, that all three sisters are feeling a little transformed. Of course, Edith most of all.

"Oh darling, you wonderful, wonderful girl." , said Anthony, kissing his wife on the forehead. "Where is my son?"

Sybil hands a bundle of blankets to him and Anthony thrills to the little pink face inside.

"Do we have a name?", asks Cora who's happiness currently rivals that of the new parents.

Edith smiled at her husband. "You tell them."

"We had a boy's name set from the start. May we present Robert Francis Strallan?", said Anthony.

"How wonderful!" cried Cora, while the Earl turned aside a little to hide the tears in his eyes. He was incredibly touched that his first grandchild would also be his namesake.

"How lucky we are to be in the midst of life against this backdrop of war.", said Isobel, "but it is time for Edith to rest. Shall we leave the family alone?"

With last looks at the baby, they shuffled out of the room, to leave Anthony, Edith and baby Robbie to get acquainted.

Xx

Mary and Sybil escort Dr. Clarkson out to the waiting car. Robert is so overjoyed, it is taking the combined efforts of Cora, Isobel and Violet to calm him down. In fact, Violet is quite shocked at the excess of emotion her son is displaying, and is ever more astonished that her most disapproving looks are doing nothing to quell his joy.

Tom closes the car door and turns to offer his congratulations to the two sisters.

"Thank you, Branson. And while we are here, Mr. Crawley sends his gratitude for the magazine you sent him. He enjoyed it."

"I was glad to send it, milady, Mr. Crawley has been very good to me."

As the car leaves, Sybil turns to her sister with curious eyes. "Are Matthew and Mr. Branson friends?"

"Not friends, but they have had a conversation or two. What of it?"

"Nothing, I am glad that someone else in the family sees him as a person."

Smiling, Sybil walks into the house. As she watches her sister leave, Mary feels the sting of tears. Sooner or later, she is sure to lose her most beloved sister to another life. Mary only prays that the day is far away. _Goodness what a day,_ she thinks, steeling herself, _I have cried for Matthew, Sybil and Edith. What on earth am I coming to?_

Xx

Robert is finally a little calmer, and Cora and Isobel have retired for the night. He sits in the drawing room with his Mama and Anthony, sipping some port and being warmed by the fire.

"How is Edith?" asks the Dowager.

"Asleep now. it has been a long day for her. She did so well."

"Indeed, she did. You must be very happy to have the succession all tied up."

"I am delighted to be a father, Lady Grantham." With this, Anthony retires for the night.

The Dowager turns to her son. "Why must he pretend to be altruistic? His estate would have gone to that odd nephew if the child hadn't come along."

"Mama, not today."

"Yes, today. You are aware that Mary and Matthew have not done their duty as yet? Mary told Rosamund that they wanted to take their time. Such nonsense."

"They've not been married a year, Mama. He's been at war for some of it."

"Even so, he gets leave. The succession must be tied up, especially if the worst happens. We cannot go through the whole business again."

Robert sighed. Of course, his Mama was right. Great civilizations may go to war with each other, but the business of administrating the family carried on.


	28. Chapter 28

**It snowed last night, but your reviews make me feel so happy. Hence, a gift from my lunch break to yours. It's also jolly hard to write jokes when you know there's a war in the background.**

 **February, 1915**

In the crisp light of an early February morning, a smart young soldier stood holding his sweetheart's hand as they waited for a train to take him back to war. The silhouette of the pair is mirrored by the silhouettes of the dozens of other couples standing at the platform on King's Cross. But we know these two lovers, so let us pretend, as they themselves feel, that they are the only boy and girl in the world.

Matthew watches his wife as she speaks and has a sudden image of her after their lovemaking, her face flushed, her dark hair tumbling down her shoulders, her eyes full of mysterious laughter. It is the image of her that keeps him warm on cold nights in the trenches. They had had a marvellous two weeks together, talking of nothing and anything, one week up in Downton and another just the two of them in London. It had been like another honeymoon. Although, not quite; then, their lovemaking had been joyous and spirited. Now, there were times when he felt Mary hold him inside her as if she wished to imprint herself on him. Matthew felt no need for that, the name Mary was stamped across his very soul.

"Darling, come back, you're miles away.", she teased. _Not that many miles away,_ he thought, _just the few miles to our bedroom._

"I'm sorry, dearest, I was thinking of our last two weeks."

"And I am reminding you that your mother has packed you a special medical kit so you need to be careful with your bag.", she said in her most wife-ish tone.

"I saw that last night. Did she raid all of Dr. Clarkson's stores?"

"I believe she did. Well, she's the almoner. I think she has supplied you with medicine for any possible illness you could contract. I must admit I have been a willing accomplice. Don't you dare come back to me in pieces."

Matthew wonders if this is the right time to tell her of the conversation he had had last week with Robert. It had been awfully sticky, talking to his father in law about the next heir, or lack thereof, and Matthew would have reproved Robert a little if he hadn't remembered the similarly delicate conversation Mary had commissioned him on re Branson. Matthew didn't quite know what to say to Robert, he and Mary had made a decision to allow the succession to happen in its own time. Yet, Robert was correct that Matthew's mortality risk was currently a little high.

Listening to Mary speak of her work on the estate had made him ill at ease to bring up the subject of motherhood. Was Mary ready? Was he ready? Did he want to be a father who was absent for the first years of his child's life?

The whistle of the train takes away the chance of further conversation.

Mary looks at him with a face that is refusing tears. "I have something for you.", she says, pulling out a little stuffed dog from her purse, "it's my lucky charm, and now it will be yours."

"Thank you darling. Now kiss me." He places the toy in his pocket and holds her close in an embrace.

"Goodbye my darling. And such good luck."

Xx

 **March 1915**

March brings clear skies to Yorkshire, and clear smiles to Edith Strallan. Poor Edith. The first few months of motherhood have not been easy ones. She was beset with anxiety. What if my son cannot love me? What if I don't know how to be a proper mother? What if I harm him? What if Anthony dies and I am left alone? Why can't I ever stop crying? She had hardly been able to spend any time with the child.

Her natural difficulties with self-confidence were only conflated by what doctors years from Edith's time with term as post-partum anxiety. Having no such diagnosis, Edith was left almost to herself and her tears for weeks.

Anthony, completely bewildered, but assured by the nanny that this was sometimes the case with new mothers, left her be and got on with his every day tasks. He spent ample amounts of time with his son and the joy he felt in little Robbie's presence often dispelled his worry over his wife.

That afternoon, however, Edith had been watching Nanny O'Reilly pushing the baby around in his pram outside and felt a need to just hold him. Sometimes, that is what helps, time and patience with yourself. Edith may have had an easier time if she had had someone to speak with, but she was not brought up with that sort of mindset. Neither did she wish to burden Anthony with what she felt was 'women's problems'. Which is the terrible thing about creating clinical, binary worlds in which we relegate and categorize, we immediately close down our abilities to have and manage complex dialogue. That being said,, I am not sure how well Anthony would have managed such a confession from his wife.

The pair settle down to a quiet afternoon tea, and Nanny brings the baby in for his regulated hour with his parents.

"Look at him, isn't he getting to be quite the bruiser?", said his delighted Papa.

"He is lovely. Didn't we do well? May I hold him?", asks Edith

"Darling, of course you can. You must." They sit together on the sofa holding the baby between them. Something about the arrangement makes Edith laugh.

"It's wonderful to see you laugh, my sweet one.", says Anthony kissing his wife on her forehead.

"I have missed you, darling, and I do feel better."

"Splendid. Cora and Robert are hoping to stop by tomorrow, may I say yes? They know you have been…ill."

"I will speak to Mrs MacGeorge about a little spring luncheon. I have some letters to catch up on, too."

"Lillian wrote again this morning. James has been called up, so that is all her boys gone to the front."

"How dreadful for her. The worry must be excruciating. And yet, how proud she must be to have all her sons bravely defending us! If Robbie were of age, I would be desperately upset to have him go, but I cannot say that being a soldier is not the most noble of callings."

Anthony keeps silent on his own views regarding the pointlessness of war. Edith is too delicate for a rigorous debate.

"I think Lillian just wants her boys at home with her around the dinner table."

Edith smiled at her son and cannot disagree with that sentiment. She suddenly puts him back in Anthony's arms, overcome by a sudden feeling that she may drop the baby.

"Darling?", Anthony is concerned and not a little baffled. He wondered if he ought to give Cora all the details of the past few months, but quite honestly didn't know how to.

"I'm all right, dear. Just a little tired."

Cora and Robert come to luncheon the next day. Robert is in high spirits having read the report of the Battle of Neuve-Chapelle and the inroads that had been made into German defences. Cora notices a little tiredness in her daughter, but keeps up a long stream of chatter about the benefit concert that they hope to hold in April.

"You will help us, won't you dear? Your gardens are far lovelier than ours, thanks to the Moseleys and I am counting on you for some spectacular arrangements."

"Of course, Mama. Is there anything else we can do to help the war effort?"

"The real business is the war on the home front. Half our tenant farmers and their sons have volunteered, we're short of workers for everything. Poor Carson, he's facing having maids serve at dinner.", said Robert.

"It's ridiculous of him to be so fastidious. War forces us all to adapt.", said Cora

"I have to agree. We have reduced some of the work on the farms here, but I don't have as much to worry about as you do, Grantham. I am thankful, for once, not to have a larger estate. If the war continues on for much longer, as I suspect it will, my agent and I will have to think very flexibly."

"That is good advice for you to take, Robert."

"So long as Robert and I are not gone to war ourselves. Thankfully they have not implemented conscription as yet, although I hear Kitchener is rattling the cages."

"I cannot wait to be called back into service.", said Robert, much to Cora's anguish.

" I do not wish to go myself, not yet. But I will do my duty, if I must.", said Anthony with a long glance at his wife.

Edith did wish to see her Anthony in regimentals, but she had to confess that she was not quite ready for him to go. She would not be able to bear it if he died. _How terrible it is to be left waiting. I wonder what there is for me to do?_ _I thought marriage would free me from the waiting room, but here I am back again, and just trapped in my own fears._

Xx

 **April 1915**

Nurse Sybil Crawley moved from bed to bed dispensing medicine, fluffing up a pillow here, bestowing a smile there, adjusting lines and taking notes. Dr. Clarkson watched her with something akin to pride. Sybil's combination of fierce intelligence, study and determination to be of use was making her into an excellent nurse. Indeed, looking at her now, the good doctor could hardly imagine her in full feather in a Mayfair ballroom.

"She does look at home, doesn't she?" murmured Isobel coming to stand by him.

"Indeed.", said Dr. Clarkson before they both turned back to their tasks. While the hospital is receiving soldiers, it is not yet facing the deluge that it will before the year ends. In fact, many of the patients are young men who have received medical exception. Medical examinations of volunteer recruits showcased the high levels of malnutrition and disease amongst the working classes, and Dr. Clarkson was amazed at the kinds of conditions that had been bubbling around the villages under his purview. Perhaps the advantage of the war would be better housing, or more trust in doctors.

Sybil finished changing the dressing on a patient and wiped her brow. She was so happy to be exhausted for a real reason, but also happy to know that it was almost time for her break. She smiled at the young man in front of her and went to the nurse's room to take off her apron.

"Someone outside for you, Nurse Crawley.", said Nurse Coates.

Sybil wondered who it could be and stepped into the hospital's entrance hall. It was Tom, holding a small picnic basket.

"Your mother demands that you eat and sent me with some sandwiches."

"I would be annoyed, but I am famished. Won't you come sit outside with me?"

They walked to a little corner of the hospital garden and Sybil tucked into her food like a teenage boy at an all you can eat buffet. Tom laughed to watch her.

"Oh don't. It's jolly hard work. I'm not just driving people around all day."

"I drove your Grandmother around all morning."

"Fair play, I apologise. Have a sandwich. "

Something about the air, and the banter and the setting and the fact that she doesn't look like the daughter of an earl, but just another nurse stirs Tom to speak.

"I would rather spend my whole morning with you. I cannot tell you what it means to me to be able to be your friend. I have to tell you that I.."

"No.", she cuts him off. "No, not yet, Tom, not yet."

He has not heard it. All he heard was her say 'Tom' in a manner that lifts him thirty feet in the air. She has never called him Tom before.

"Now is not the time.", she insists.

He comes down to earth. "When, then? Because you can bet on me."

She smiled. "Maybe. My life just took a new direction, let me live it. But, maybe, someday."

"I will wait a lifetime."

She laughs at his dramatics, but still thrills to hear his promise. And so, in the midst of war, let us leave two very happy young people to the rest of their lunch. After all, in this moment, they, too think that they are the only two people in the world.

Xx

 **May/ June 1915**

On the 31st of May, 1915, the sky fell down over London. Indeed, following raids in King's Lynn and other parts of England, the Kaiser had finally approved the bombing of London. Bombs are dropped on Stoke Newington, Dalston, Hoxton, Spitalfields, Whitechapel and Stepney. Bombs strike a music hall and a goods yard, a church , a synagogue and a bonded warehouse full of whisky. While fatalities are minimal, they are also mostly children.

When the news breaks in Downton, Lady Mary shudders and thinks of the letter in her pocket from a cousin in America, detailing the work of women peace activists. She thinks of her cousin's words, that peace was a women's issue. _Yes, yes it is. War is for men, and peace is for women. There has to be an end to this madness._

Across the table from her, Edith looks at her husband. She is shocked to her core. _We must fight back, we must show them that we are not afraid. Women all over the country are stepping up to the roles of their husbands. It is my time. If Anthony has to go, I am ready._

Sybil has had an additional shock. She had had a letter telling her of the death of Tom Bellasis. Only last week, there had been a letter containing the death of Vivian MacDonald. _It seems that all the boys I ever danced with are dying. I am glad I can be of use. But I wonder, what more can I do?_

xx


	29. Chapter 29

**This one's for all you M/M lovers. With a wee surprise for those of you who like Sybil and Tom.**

 **October 1915**

"Is that Matthew I see outside walking with Mary?", asked the Dowager of Isobel as they headed into the drawing room at Downton Abbey.

"It is, he got his leave a little early and surprised us. He had some good news. He's been promoted. He has been recruited to help head a voluntary recruitment scheme and will be in England for two months. He has a week to spend with us, but we will still have him every weekend. He's very excited about his new duties."

"Excellent. Then perhaps we can ensure that he focusses on some old ones.", said the Dowager waspishly.

Isobel seems perplexed but the Dowager refuses to elucidate. Inside the drawing room, Robert looks impatient, Cora is nervous and Dr. Clarkson looks like a man wishing he was elsewhere.

"Well, then, now that Mama and Isobel are here, why don't you tell us why you have gathered us together, Dr. Clarkson?", says Robert.

"I defer to Mrs. Crawley, it is her initiative."

"All right. As you know, we are increasingly flooded with wounded at the hospital. It's taken over our convalescence spaces and the nearest home is Farley Hall. Many great houses up and down the country are now becoming homes for the wounded and we wondered if this could also be true of Downton Abbey?"

"Our home? You want to turn our home into a hospital?" asks Robert sharply.

"A home of recuperation. It would be properly managed. I have worked with Sybil and Dr. Clarkson on a proposal."

"Where is Sybil?", asked Cora

"I'm not sure, she said she would be here. But can you see how much use it would be to the war effort if you were to allow Downton Abbey to be taken over by the medical corps?"

"I can certainly see that, but I am a little worried about what this would mean for our home. I mean we do live here. The poor servants, we are already understaffed.", said Cora

"The Army would provide you with a staff and food rations as well, Lady Grantham.", joined in Dr. Clarkson

"I can't see the point, but I do want to be of some help to the war effort.", said Robert.

"Well I forbid it. Where will it end? Amputations in the drawing room? Unimaginable surgery in the Countess' bedroom? We will be like a second-rate hotel." Obviously, this was the Dowager.

Before Robert can inquire as to what sort of second-rate hotels his mother has frequented, Cora retorts, "I hesitate to remind you Mama that this is my house now, Robert's and mine and we are the only persons in any position to forbid anything."

The Earl threw up his hands, unwilling to enter into an argument between his wife and his mother.

"I leave the decision in Cora's hands. I'm going to my study, I have some letters to write."

"I will need to see your proposals, and talk to Carson and Mrs. Hughes. There will need to be decisions on how things are managed and who is in charge.", said Cora.

The Dowager shook her stick and fixed her eyes on Dr. Clarkson as if to say _'This is what happens in wars. The middle classes start testing the waters.'_

Isobel took advantage of Cora's openness to start discussing her plans and proposals. She had to suppress a smile. The Dowager was really very much in favour of the scheme, and Isobel had approached her first. Because Isobel knows who the real manager of the family was. The two ladies had decided that heavy opposition from the Dowager would be just the thing that would spur Cora to action. At Downton Abbey, schemers of all kinds abound.

Xx

Out on the grounds, Mary was detailing her new scheme to Matthew.

"My wife, a peace activist!" he exclaimed.

"Nothing of the sort. Can you imagine me walking the streets with a banner? I feel sympathy with the work that they are doing, and I agree that peace is something that women should champion. All I will do is help to host local meetings, and offer my patrony where needed. I am proud of you darling, but all I see is the endless waste of war. Have you seen the wounded? The stories Sybil tells me, and the raids on the cities. I think of the children who die, innocents."

"I do understand. At the front, the men pray for a bullet that kills them cleanly. All right, so long as I still have your prayers. What about the estate?"

"I can do many things, Mr. Crawley. Besides, I have found something of an ally in Edith. She has been helping women at Locksley with learning how to manage their accounting and books. Well, those women who have had husbands go away. I am going to ask her to come and start the same thing here at Downton. If conscription comes, more women will have to rise to the fore."

"Who knew that the Great War of Europe would bring peace to Downton? The détente of the Crawley Sisters!"

"A temporary ceasefire is all. War makes odd bedfellows, all the more reason to work for peace.", said Mary raising her superior eyebrows.

"All the same, I like this side of you."

"It's odd. Before the war, we held such silly lives and now we are all finding purpose. Speaking of which, you and I have been shirking our duty."

"Did you Papa speak to you?"

"Did he speak to you? In my case, Granny has been threatening a scolding for months now. Her next approach will be Isobel. But she is right. We are the future of Downton and we have to ensure the future. It is more than working the estate, as I keep telling you. We have a duty of procreation."

"How clinically you woo me. Are you ready my darling?"

"I think so. And you?"

"I only worry about leaving a wife and child alone for too long."

"We won't be alone while we are at Downton. When you come home we will move to London and make up for all the time that was lost."

"Very well then, lead me to my duty.", said Matthew in mock despair.

"You are a very silly man, Captain Crawley.", and Mary leans in for a kiss but is interrupted by a grey-green flash streaking across the grounds by them.

"What on earth was that?" asks Matthew.

Looking out with sharp eyes and assuming a look that the Dowager would have been proud of his wife replied, "A flying nurse."

Xx

Sybil flew into the garage brandishing a letter.

"I have something to tell you. I thought I'd tell you first!", she said excitedly.

"What is it?" asked Tom laughing at her overflowing joy.

"I applied to the Red Cross! They've accepted me ! I 'm off to Torquay next month and then Italy!"

Tom looks stunned. "What about the plans for the convalescent home?"

"Oh Isobel and Dr. Clarkson and the other nurses can handle that. Right after the Zeppelin raids in May, I sent away for an application. Isobel knew. It's only a six month posting."

"What will your parents say?"

"Oh Granny supports me so they will let me go. What do _you_ say?"

What can he say when she is so happy? "I'm glad to see you happy. So you will go away?"

"Only for six months. Then I have agreed to return to service here at the hospital."

"I'll miss you. Will you write?"

Sybil smiles at him and then, surprising herself, she grasps his hand, reaches up and brushes his lips with hers. Then, completely shocked at having made the first move, she runs out of the garage. Tom does not chase after her, for he has floated right up into the stratosphere, and does not come back down again till the hall boy comes in with his dinner.

Xx

Edith looks around at the women assembled in front of her. She looks over at Mary who responds with indifference and eyebrows that say _Stop wasting time._

"Good morning everyone. Thank you for coming here today. As you can see, we have borrowed a tractor and a car from Mr. Jarvis. Some of you have mentioned to Lady Mary that you would like to be able to work as farm hands on the estates. While most of this is manual labour, you also need to know how to drive the tractor. For an hour today, and every week, Mr. Branson and I will teach you how to do so. If you want the lesson, come here every Wednesday after your tea time. It's the done thing, they've allowed women to be bus conductors in London. What say you?"

The women respond with excitement and some giggling. Mary nods to her sister and then to Branson to get the group into some form of order. She then leaves Edith and Branson to get on with the lessons.

Edith watches her go but doesn't mind. Edith, like her sisters, is thriving on having purpose. Purpose is cleansing, therapeutic. She wonders what kind of estate little Robert will inherit considering the rapid changes to work that the war is already bringing.

Xx

The rapid transformation in his daughters is something that the Earl remarks upon to his sons-in-law as the three of them enjoy some after dinner port one Saturday evening.

"Do you mind it, Robert?" asks Matthew, "I find myself to be very pleased to see the changes in Mary."

"I have to agree, " says Anthony, "although I do miss spending more time with Edith. I am quite thankful that she spends most of her time in domestic pursuits, still. Yet the other projects have made her quite cheery."

"Not to mention," smiles Robert, "I haven't heard a recriminatory remark between them in weeks. I am glad for their Mama's sake, for I have had a letter from General Haig, asking me to report to GHQ. It's not the army proper, but I will be working with headquarters. Glorified paper pushing but it is a colonelcy."

"So you are also off? I suppose I will be next.", says Anthony.

"Then let us be happy we have such strong womenfolk behind us. To our women!", and Robert raises his glass in a toast.

Xx

 **December 1** **st** **, 1915**

Lady Mary is feeling very queasy. She looks with profound objection at her breakfast egg. Her mother-in-law raises her eyebrows and queries Mary's health. Mary shakes her head, smiles and reaches instead for toast. She has a few appointments this morning and does not have time to indulge in illness

She walks the grounds of Yew Tree Farm with Jarvis discussing some ideas for the spring planting, and is suddenly quite overcome.

"Are you quite allright, milady?"

"I am indeed. Please do excuse me." And walking with great control over to a nearby hedge, she was violently ill all over Mrs. Drewe's perennials.

Two hours later, Anna is ministering to Mary with a cup of hot strong tea, and the doctor stands outside her bedroom smiling puckishly at Isobel Crawley.

"Well, what is it? Or shall I summon the Dowager Countess?".

"You're going to be a Grandmother. Congratulations."


	30. Chapter 30

**Blessed are those who review, for theirs is the kingdom of fanfiction. P.S a handy handy tip is "Letters Live". Contains some great WW1 letters… and some read by the fabulous Mr Cumberbatch.**

 **Letter from Captain. M. Crawley to Lady. M. Crawley**

March 10th 1916

 _Well my dear Mrs. Crawley,_

 _Here we are, yet another month of warfare and I sit in a trench and try not to think of rats and lice and explosions. I wish I could tell you where I was or what I was doing. How odd it seems that there is a part of my life I cannot share with you. Perhaps, when the war is over, someday, we can take a walk and discourse about it Imagine that? A clear day at Downton, a warm wind in the trees, you by my side and my son on my shoulders._

 _How easy that was to write! I must admit, my darling, that I have held such fears of fatherhood, but when your telegram came, the joy that coursed through helped me to know that I was, indeed, ready. To think that I was on my way back to the front when you found out. If I had stayed but a day longer! I have spoken to the Colonel and will try my best to be on leave at the right time in July._

 _Otherwise, I am boxing on as usual. I lost my soldier-servant. Poor chap lost his right arm in an explosion and has gone home to his family. I don't mind being on my own for now but I had got used to having a batman and have applied for a new one._

 _Mother writes me detailed reports of how the pregnancy is progressing. They write like war reports. "Three slices of toast at breakfast, but only soup for her lunch. Invigorating walks after lunchtime." She does not tell me how_ _you_ _are, but I was riotously amused to hear of the evening you ate all the cakes at the Dower House._

 _Mr. Murray has written to me of an investment that Robert is planning. It seems that he wishes to invest almost the entirety of Cora's money into the scheme. I have asked Mr. Murray for the pertinent details, but perhaps you could have a word with your father, or better yet with Cousin Violet? I am a little alarmed at the amount that is to be invested. It is good to invest, but war always poses risks. However, it is my character to practice caution at every turn. You will know best what to do. Where I cannot administrate directly, I commission you as my proxy._

 _It is so good to have these letters and distractions when death is so much a part of my life now. But I know that if I fall in battle, I did so for a righteous cause, and I did so after having known the greatest of loves._

 _I close now with love to you and the baby,_

 _Matthew._

Xx

 **Lady Mary Crawley to Nurse Sybil Crawley**

March 22, 1916

 _Dearest Sybil,_

 _I write to you from Crawley House. It is the sole oasis in the sea of chaos that exists between the hospital and Downton. It distracts me to mixed metaphors. I am glad that the house has been offered up for the effort, of course, but Granny is right, it is like living backstage of the gaiety. I was at the house to dinner last night and a ping-pong ball rolled right in under my foot. Carson almost had a conniption. Poor old Carson, he has to have Anna and the other maids serving in the dining room. Conscription called up the last of the footmen, and I understand from Anna that there are only three hall boys left._

 _Not that staff have diminished at Downton. The Army medics surround us like a swarm and Dr. Clarkson seems to enjoy playing Queen Bee. Mama and Isobel have turned into hornets, but thankfully sting only each other. It's rather amusing, actually, but you cannot tell anyone I said that._

 _Mama says you will be back in the second week of April. I shall pick you up from the station myself. I have missed you terribly , darling. Edith gets worse. Did you know I sat on her head once when we were in the nursery? I wonder why I ever got up._

 _She's also pregnant, the cheek of her, and keeps carrying on as if she invented motherhood. Aside from the nausea it's not so very bad, my schedule has hardly been affected. But to listen to HER, I think she considers herself some kind of latter- day saint!_

 _Thank God for Granny. When Edith told us last week , Granny looked over at Anthony and remarked 'late and rapid blooming, how automatic of you Sir Anthony, tell me are you considering conversion to Catholicism?' Anthony is over forty-one, so he won't be called to the front and he is at his leisure to sit here and breed. Best prepare yourself for a whole cluster of Strallans frolicking around the county before the decade ends. Ghastly thought._

 _Matthew would have called that a very uncharitable speech. But I know I can speak as myself to you. I need you both here to remind me to be my best self. I promise that I am not voicing these thoughts out loud as Edith and I have to pull together for our projects with the women on the estates._

 _Speaking of projects, when you come might I engage you to speak at one of my little 'Evenings for Peace'? I think it would be edifying to have "A Nurse's view of the Frontlines." You can tell us about the kinds of illnesses and treatments and inform our campaign in that way. It is up to you, but I would see it as a great personal favour._

 _In return, and although I know I shouldn't, I will tell you that conscription will not spare a certain chauffeur. The ruling does not extend to Ireland, but the man is living here and his summons_ _will_ _come. I verified this with Dr. Clarkson, so please prepare yourself._

 _Affectionately,_

 _Mary._

Xx

 **April 1916**

Mary Crawley, now looking quite blooming and healthy in her six month of pregnancy, waits happily at the station for the arrival of her sister Sybil. She almost does not recognise the pale, thin figure who waves at her from the platform. It is Sybil, but certainly a Sybil who has seen too much of war.

"Home and tea, darling?", asks Mary, extremely glad that her father is in London and will not see this changed Sybil for some months to come.

Even though Sybil looks tired, Mary has to admit that her eyes look quite vibrant. They have a strength and wisdom in them that had not been there before. Mary is almost envious of her sister.

Tom looks at Sybil in the rear-view mirror with a nod and a smile. They would have to talk later, but for now it is enough to just see her face. He listens to her chatter and laugh with her sister as they drive back to the house, as if no time has passed since they last saw each other.

Sybil finds Downton much changed. The hall and drawing rooms have been commandeered by the Army, and the bachelor's corridor are all taken up by officer's beds. Gone is the usual fragrance of freshly cut flowers and roaring fires. It is all antiseptic , fresh linen and old tea. The first to greet her is her Mama, who gasps and says, "I asked Mrs. Patmore to make all your favourite things for tea, and I insist that you eat them all!"

Sybil laughs and goes to the library quite willingly. She wonders if Mrs. Patmore has made salmon soufflés for dinner.

Mr. Carson draws Mary aside. "A note for you, milady. From Sir Anthony."

 _Dear Mary,_

 _I wonder if I may have a few minutes to speak with you after dinner tonight? Edith and I will be coming up to see Sybil. It is no great matter. I am simply interested in becoming a benefactor of your work for a peaceful solution to the conflict. Fatherhood, you see, spurs a man to wishing for a different world for his children. I may not have chosen to go to fight, but that doesn't necessarily mean that there is no fight within me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Anthony Strallan_

 _How disappointing,_ thinks Mary, _if Anthony Strallan is not boring after all._

Xx

Sybil and Tom rendezvous later that day. She spends most of the time telling him of her experiences and her renewed zeal for her work. Then, she asks,

"Have your summons come?"

"Not yet."

"Will you go?"

"I will, but not to war. I won't fight for them. I will go to make my protest. But I don't know. I may have to go to Ireland before that. Something is in the wind."

"So your end will be prison, either way?"

"You followed your purpose."

"I wish yours did not mean certain imprisonment."

"Will you wait for me?"

"Yes." They sit together for a while, holding hands in silence.

Xx

Sybil waits to catch Mary before dinner. "Could I have a word?"

"You want to see me now, Anthony wants to see me after dinner. I feel like the Prime Minister. "

"I need a favour from you and Matthew."

"Is this about the chauffeur?"

"Mary. He _is_ a person. He hasn't received his summons yet, but he says that he will only go to protest to the General. It will be treason."

"How can Matthew and I help you if the man is so very foolhardy?"

"He likes Matthew. He says he is in Matthew's debt. Doesn't Matthew need a batman? I think that if Tom knew he was despatched especially to help Matthew, he would at least delay his protest. So that he could fulfil his debt. "

"How will we arrange that?"

"Papa can pull some strings, we can ask him for special help for a member of his household. Papa doesn't need the details."

"Certainly not. He'd have him court marshalled. Will your plan work?"

"I think so. Tom is like Matthew, a man of the moral high ground. A personal debt means very much to him. "

"If he does not join the fight in Ireland, first? Don't do that, I read the papers. We cannot save him from prison if he chooses that particular path."

"Can we not work to ensure his safety and my sanity if he is called to war?"

"I will talk to Papa and Matthew. And Sybil? Try not to let anyone hear you call him Tom. Granny is not above enacting a criminal trial on the grounds of the estate."

Xx

The Dowager sits back at the end of at long week with a large glass of brandy. Easter has come and gone, and she feels some satisfaction that she has done her Christian duty in that past month. An armed insurrection had come to Ireland, but it was over so quickly, they had barely had time to react. The chauffeur had hardly had time to pack his bags to join it. There was something there, some secret between him and Sybil and Mary that the Dowager needed to sniff out. She was oddly fond of the man, she appreciated that his first instinct was not to turn Robespierre and rattle around with a guillotine. The Dowager, like her eldest grand daughter, liked a good argument, and she was always sure of an enjoyable debate when Branson was assigned to drive her around. When Mary had appealed to her for help in having Robert pull some strings to make Branson Matthew's batman, she was all too ready to acquiesce. After all, some time fighting alongside the heir to Downton could only bring Branson over to the right side of things. The chauffeur's overtly rebellious zeal could only affirm Matthew's understanding of his duty to maintain the order of Downton. The Dowager knows how human nature works in interesting paradox.

The harder fight had been chivvying Robert out of his idea to invest all his money in the Canadian Railway. In the end, the Dowager had to manoeuvre Cora very precisely. Robert would not be stopped from the investment, but at least now it was only a quarter of Cora's fortune and not the whole of it. _This,_ reflected the Dowager, _is the problem of men making decisions in smoking rooms without the presence of women. There is little wonder the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Speaking of which,_ and she turned very firm eyes to God, _you may also be male, but I hope you make the right decision and give Mary a son._

Xx

 **July 15** **th** **, 1916**

It is a hot day, and Captain Matthew Crawley sits in the parlour of Crawley House with a strong gin and tonic and the paper. It is a much crinkled paper. Late, the night before, Mary received her pains, and 12 hours later, there was still no sign of a child. The maid announces a visitor, and it is Tom Branson, looking slightly uncomfortable in his new uniform.

"Branson, you are back from your training, I see."

"Yes, sir."

"Good man. We will leave at the end of the week. I must thank you for this great favour you are doing for me. I need a man I can trust by my side."

"Yes, sir. Nurse Crawley telephoned that you may wish for someone to sit with you, sir."

"I'd be jolly grateful. There isn't much for me to do but wait. Sit, sit. Will you have some gin?"

Tom agrees and they sit in companionable silence.

"Knowing you will go with me is very heartening, Branson. You may have heard that my friend Charles Blake went missing after the whole business in Jutland. I fear he may be a prisoner of war."

"I was sorry to hear that , sir. He is a good man."

More silence. Then Tom said,

"A cousin of mine was shot by a British soldier at Easter. Now I am one of them."

"Not all of us are like that, Branson. I am sorry for your loss. But come, come and show the Army the face of a proud Irishman. Change our minds about rebels."

"Nurse Crawley has taught you well."

"Sybil is looking out for you. And you and I must look out for each other. I will not forget the sacrifice you have made for me."

They are interrupted by Cora, who has just come in. "No baby, yet? Oh Matthew you must be exhausted. "

"I rather think it is Mary who is doing all the work. You don't have to wait, I will telephone when there is news."

"Oh, I will wait. It is Mama who will need to be telephoned, or perhaps Corporal Branson you might be willing to fetch her once it's over? I've sent a telegram to Lord Grantham but he may not be here in time."

Cora's presence checks any further conversation between Matthew and Tom and they only smile awkwardly at each other in the manner of men. Suddenly, they hear Mary scream and Matthew will not be kept downstairs any longer. He rushes up the stairs with Cora and Tom at his heels.

"Mary, Mary, My God, Mother is she dead?"

Isobel comes out of the room, looking quite the worse for the wear. She holds her son's hand and motions to him to be silent. Suddenly, in the silence, a miraculous sound. An infant's cry rips through the air.

"You can go in now, darling." and Isobel gives in to copious tears.

And there, in the doctor's arms is proof that even God listens to the Dowager. "A healthy baby boy, Mr. Crawley. Well done."

Matthew is beside himself. He looks over to his exhausted wife who smiles and him and raises slightly weak eyebrows. "If you don't mind, darling," she whispers, " I'd like to wait a while before we try for another. It seems our children are as stubborn as we are. He was unwilling to make an appearance until he was good and ready."

"Anything you want my darling. I'd give you the world right now if I could."

They are interrupted by Cora and Sybil who wish to cuddle and admire the baby. Tom is soon despatched to the Dower House with the news.

"Wonderful. And the name?", is that estimable lady's response.

"George Charles Crawley."

"George for the king, very good. But Charles? Who is Charles? Unless it's someone of Matthew's then it can only be my nephew, and we don't speak of him polite company."

But a week later, when the baby is brought to the Abbey to be shown off to his GrandPapa, Lady Mary has a quiet word in Mr. Carson's ear, and that venerable personage has to leave the room to compose his quivering eyebrows. Our Lady Mary has her soft spots, and little Robert is not the only new child with a namesake living at the Abbey.

Xx

 **Obviously, I had grapefruit for breakfast. I've run out though. I wonder what my writing looks like when I am fuelled by bagels. Not likely to come back to this for about another week, but i promise, i have another 30 chapters planned afore the end.**


	31. Chapter 31

**I found the last half of grapefruit.** **Look forward to all your reviews! I have also been researching women during world war one and it's really quite interesting.**

A Lady's Purview- By Lady Edith Strallan, special to The Sketch, November 1916

 _Taking our places_

In this column, I have often written about the role of women and those duties that we are called to in these modern times. As we face a continuously escalating war, we see that, as women, we are evermore called to service on the home front.

As I write, I have just returned from a long day in the fields supervising the women working on my husband's estate. Alongside other women leaders of the county, we have formed a voluntary organisation that assists women who wish to be in service, by providing education, training and child care where necessary. In the past several months, such service has become quite usual for working class women. We see them driving tractors, ploughing fields, working in munitions factories and stepping up to take over those roles that were meant traditionally for men.

As women of the upper class, we too must heed that slogan that every fit woman who steps up frees a fit man for the war front. Conscription continues to deplete our lands and houses of able bodied men, and so we too must do our service. We must not be afraid of the changes that a war economy brings, even if it causes disruption to our way of life. We may assist in schemes that teach women to drive, to keep accounts, we may encourage young women to join the VAD and the various nursing corps. We must appreciate the maids who now serve us in the dining room. This is our duty.

Consider, everyday, how it is that you, too, can 'hold up your end' as we pull together for victory.

Xx

Transcript of a speech delivered by Nurse Sybil Crawley to "An Evening for Peace", Downton Village Hall, December 1st 1916

"It was my great pleasure and duty to offer myself in service to the British Red Cross for six months beginning at the end of 1915. It continues to be my great pleasure and duty to work here in Downton as an Auxiliary Nurse. In such times as these, the duty of compassion and care, and of knowing that 'patriotism is not enough' is indeed an imperative one. As nurses, our duty is to the wounded and the sick, irrespective of country and affiliation. I have been asked to speak to you today about some of the conditions that I encountered during my time away. With permission, I would also like to highlight some of the problems that we also face in medical service on the home front.

The first conditions that I can speak to are my own. While we do not see this at home, in France and in Italy, schools, parish halls and any possible facility have been taken over by medical corps to create places of treatment or simple medical depots. As nurses, we quartered in cubicles by a stable, often having to walk across the courtyard in our nighties and coats just to take a bath! You can imagine how such conditions were a shock to the system for one such as myself! More difficult is the work in the treatment centres. We were always short of supplies. The doctors are also facing new conditions and diseases for which we are still developing treatments. More radical and effective treatments are necessary and often the best we can do is to patch someone up quickly, offer them a kind word and send them on; sometimes back home, sometimes back to the front.

The men suffer from battle related injuries, indeed. A significant issue is the problem of infected wounds, and doctors are often forced to amputate or allow the soldier to die from tetanus or gangrene. These wound infections occur when the body is riddled by machine gun bullets and the wound is then further impacted by parts of the soldier's uniform, or polluted mud finding its way into their internal organs or abdomens. It is too cruel to see the kinds of suffering that our boys at the front endure.

My brother-in-law speaks of men who pray for life or for a bullet that kills them cleanly. Indeed, the alternative is so much worse, half-men with half-limbs who arrive feeling bereft of half their souls. At the hospital in Downton and up at the house, we do the work of surgery, cleaning, and convalescence, but it is still patch work. There is, indeed, so much waste of life, and if we can bring about a speedy end to this war, then it is God's work indeed. Thank you."

Xx

"Sybil darling, you are magnificent.", said Mary as she, Sybil and Anthony exited the meeting that night, "it will give us much to think about, although I feel that the people who needed to hear such a speech will never hear it."

"I must add my congratulations also, Sybil. Voices like yours are very needed now. Might I offer you both a ride back to the house?"

"Thank you, Anthony, I will walk with Mary to Crawley House and then back to the hospital. I am on the graveyard shift!"

Anthony bowed his head slightly and took his leave.

"They are a house divided, don't you think? Edith is a lot more supportive of the war effort than he is.", observed Mary as the two ladies began their walk home.

"I don't think Edith wants the war to be prolonged. She champions assisting the war effort. Besides, do you think a husband and wife must always agree on everything?"

"No, I do not, but they must not be divided in principle. Perhaps you are right. Matthew has gone to war, he's not a pacifist."

"And you are. Why are you a pacifist , Mary?"

"I don't like waste. I was watching Mama put together a benefit concert and all I could think is 'what is the point of the exercise?'. It achieves nothing."

"I am glad to hear it. Both you and Edith are far nicer now , you know. "

"Goodness. I've never been accused of being as nice as Edith. Come in, we can feed you something and you can cuddle your nephew before you go off to work. I hope that makes me nicer that Edith?"

Smiling, the sisters went in to the warmth of Crawley House. They meet a very indignant Isobel.

"What is it?" asks Mary, raising a magnificent eyebrow.

"I know she is your mother, but I am afraid that I am unable to go on!"

"Pardon me, Isobel, but you aren't making any sense at all." , remarked her daughter-in-law

"I am not valued, I have no place at Downton. They do not wish to hear my opinions, and so I must leave."

"Of course you are valued. Where will you go? What about George?"

"You made it perfectly clear when you hired Nanny that you wished for him to have your kind of upbringing."

"Isobel,", said Sybil softly, "you are still needed at the hospital."

"No, my mind is made up. I have a cousin who is recruiting volunteers to help with evacuees in France. I booked my ticket today and I have already written to Matthew."

"Well I wish you spoke with me about it first. Surely, you would think that I have a say in it?", said Mary with acidity.

"To choose between mother and mother-in-law?", Isobel quieted a little, "I think it is best for me to go away for a while ,dear. You are perfectly all right on your own."

"I know that. I am just unsure of the prudence of making a decision in a hurry. At the same time, I know what needing purpose can mean. So if you're sure."

"I am."

Isobel leaves the room and the sisters turn to each other with faces that are torn between amusement and shock.

"Golly, I knew they weren't getting on, but I didn't think we had a full-scale battle here on the home-front."

Sybil laughed and then looked into the fire. "I wanted to spend time with you this evening because I had something to ask you."

"Another favour for our resident Keir Hardie?"

"Not as such. I haven't had a letter from him since August, when they first got back."

"I wouldn't worry. When there is a battle raging, they don't have time to write for weeks. I have had nothing from Matthew either, but it is quite normal. If something happens, we will get a telegram."

"They won't inform us if anything happens to Tom."

"Matthew will. You must rely on him."

Xx

I wonder how the Other Storyteller feels about how the Crawley sisters are developing. His story still inveigles itself into mine, for , after all, they are conjoined universes in which all the same players play their part. The entrances and exits are jumbling up a little, and now let us call back to the stage an almost forgotten player. One, who exited far too abruptly in the other universe.

Sybil rubbed her tired eyes. After three night shifts, she was back on morning rounds and wondered which was worse. Sybil, though, is not one to spend time indulging in self pity, so, she quickly snaps her head up and heads down the ward to check on some fresh towels. She is stopped by Dr. Clarkson.

"Nurse Crawley, I wonder if you might step into the second day room for a moment? We had an officer brought to us last week, an amnesiac. They believe he escaped from a war camp. He only spoke a few words when he was taken to the hospital at Leeds. One of them was "Downton" so they sent him on here. When I told him that he was at the Grantham Hospital, he said "Yes, the Crawleys." In cases of amnesia, familiarity often helps to bring the memory back to full function. Will you go see him?"

Intrigued, Sybil does so. She looks around the room and notices the soldier immediately. His head is bound in bandages, but he is the only one of the men there reading. She walks to his bed and as she sits by him, she almost lets out a gasp.

His left cheek swells with a bruise, and the bandages on his head are very thick. A long , thin scar travels from one side of his face to the other, splitting it, effectively, into two. Yet, underneath the scarring and the bruising, there are familiar features.

"I think it is Charles Blake.", said Sybil to Dr. Clarkson when they have returned to the doctor's office, "I cannot be sure, you will need to get Mary, but I think it is. The poor man."

Mary arrives by the evening and sits gently by the soldier's bedside. If she had been a different kind of woman, Mary would have cried outright.

"Can you remember me?"

The polite, formal tones of Charles Blake respond, "I am sorry that I do not. All I remember are jumbled up words and phrases."

"I'm Mary Crawley. You worked with my husband."

"And what is my name, Mary Crawley?"

"Charles Blake."

"You know, I cannot tell you if that sounds right."

Mary leaves him and makes arrangements for him to be taken to Downton Abbey for recuperation. She will have to write to Charles' mother and Sir Severus immediately. As she sits in the car and is driven to Downton, the worries she had allayed for Sybil come rushing to her. _Dear God, I know I have no credit with you, but spare my Matthew please. For the sake of my son._

xx


	32. Chapter 32

**I finished my first clutch of essay marking last night, so I had time to make the tweaks I wanted to this one. Hopefully be able to update again in a couple of days. Thanks for reviews and new followers.**

 **January 1917**

We find ourselves somewhere on the Western Front. Don't ask me where, I ventured to ask but the Gods of History looked at me and sneered at my audacity. Indeed, the Gods of History are all actually cats, and they needn't humour us unless they felt it was the thing to do, and I, upstart that I am, had clearly overreached.

However, they did quite graciously allow me to eavesdrop on the scene below.

We swoop in on the ruins of a village hall, still somewhat habitable, where a group of soldiers, drinking tea or playing quiet games as they wait in quiet reserve, hidden here in this ruined village awaiting their summons. This is a unit in 'close reserve', and their only duty at the moment was to wait to reinforce the line at very short notice. If we look very closely at the grubby young man seated in a corner staring indifferently at his cup of tea, we will remark upon his striking blue eyes. Underneath the dusting of mud that lines his hair, we can even make out something of a once brilliant gold. Ergo, we would not be wrong if we were to suppose that this man is Matthew Crawley, one of the heroes of our story. The smiling corporal who comes up behind him confirms our suspicions,

" _I_ have found our letters, Captain Crawley." The corporal, of course, is another hero of our story.

"Marvellous- two months worth at least! Sit with me, there's tea on, and I found a tin of evaporated milk at the bottom of my kit."

The two men delve into their stack of letters and for quite a while, there is just silence between them. Then, Matthew tilts his head with concern.

"My mother is in France, in fact I think she's just five hours away from where we are stationed. It seems she had a falling out with Cora."

"Could have seen that coming.", was Tom's smiling reply.

"That is precisely what my good wife says here in her letter."

"You know, myself and Lady Mary, two sides of the same coin." Whereupon both those gentlemen giggled like naughty schoolboys.

"I have more confidence in defending you from Robert than I do from Mary. I tell you this now, Corporal, so that you prepare yourself. "

"You married quite a woman, sir."

"I did. And I wouldn't have it another way. _Elle a toujours les yeux ouverts/ Et ne me laisse pas dormer/ Ses rêves en pleine lumière/Font s'évaporer les soleils/Me font rire, pleurer et rire/ Parler sans avoir rien à dire."_

"I am afraid my French does not extend further than food, water and the facilities. But I think I get the general gist."

Matthew smiles, and slips into a small reverie of his wife. Captain Crawley has his moony moments, yet.

"Sybil says that Charles Blake is at Downton. So he is found?", says Tom, breaking Matthew's pleasant train of thought.

"Mary doesn't say anything here, let me open another letter. My God, he is an amnesiac, but he is alive. Thank God. Mary says they are still piecing together information , but it is likely that he sustained his injuries in battle and was simply wandering, disoriented for weeks."

Silence again, for this is the way of men sometimes. It is interrupted by Matthew's exclamation,

"Approval of leave for both of us! I can tell you now, I was due leave in February, but you weren't and I prevailed upon my father-in-law to pull what strings he could."

"Thank you sir, that's kind, but is it fair as I've only been here since August?"

"It isn't but I do owe you, Corporal. But speaking of which, here's something for you to turn your revolutionary skills towards. The Officers get leave every three months, but the rank and file have to wait fifteen. Don't you think that should be changed?"

"I do. And you'd like me to take this up?"

"Change the world in manageable pieces, Corporal. Didn't you tell me that revolution is a process?"

And aye my friends, it is. Revolutions that happen overnight will only last for days. If we champion learning, awareness and funding for education, we are revolutionaries. End of narrator's soapbox.

Xx

Tea at Locksley is not the large affair that it can be at Downton. After all, as Cora says, you can never tell when the Dowager may invite herself to tea. At Locksley, tea time is a simple affair, with the master and the mistress of the house, having dismissed the nannies, often down on the floor playing with their children in a manner that would have scandalised the Dowager had she indeed surprised them at tea-time.

Today, we find Sir Anthony Strallan leaning against a chair leg in a most undignified fashion with his two-month-old daughter in his arms. Marigold Antonia Strallan had arrived nearly a month late, in the dead of winter, with the lung capacity of an opera singer. Even at this young age, she could castigate her father with a glance. Indeed, twenty years hence, Marigold will be the only one of the cousins who could quell George Crawley at those times when he threw his weight around a little bit. A loud, "Oh look, George's practicing Being Head of the Family again!" from Marigold was all it took to bring that young gentleman down a peg or two.

As Anthony sat, enchanted by his little daughter, Edith laughed and chased young Robert around the room. The young male Strallan, having found independent mobility spent most of his tea time knocking over any and all ornaments within the reach of his pudgy little fists.

"Oh dear, there go those shepherd figurines the Darnleys gave us."

Anthony waved his hand at his wife. As an older father, he was willing to indulge his children in everything. "Silly damn things anyway."

Having finally captured her son under the piano and settled him with a piece of cake, Edith turned to her husband.

"How was your day, dear?"

"Eventful. I mediated a conference between some agricultural organisers and a farmer's union form North Yorkshire. They're old hands, ancient really, and they aren't very happy about the formal organising of the Women's Land Army in the area. In fact, one of them objected on moral grounds, that the uniform would encourage cross-dressing and unnatural desires."

"I rather object to his imagination! How did it end?"

"In compromise. We have to allow some supervision by retired farmers, although I don't see how feasible it is. You look determined."

"Well that would be because I am, darling husband. I think it is time for Lady Edith Strallan to formally announce her membership of the Women's Land Army."

If Marigold could, she would look at her mother with intense approval.

Anthony smiled and then looked at Edith with some nervousness. "Tomorrow evening I will be at a pacifist's meeting at the village."

Edith doesn't look at him directly, she concentrates on cleaning some cake crumbs from little Robert's chin.

"You must do as you wish, my dear. But do be careful, there are several pacifists who have been imprisoned. And we wouldn't want anyone to think you were a socialist."

Xx

Hortense Blake was the sort of woman who called to mind the term battle-axe. Widowed young, she maintained her place on the upper levels of the food chain only because her son was the heir to Sir Severus' baronetcy and all the vast lands that went with it. She had all the tenacity of a West African lungfish. When it came to the aforementioned son, she had all the fierceness of a mother bear. Looking at her over the luncheon table, Cora was reminded of a Long Tom Cannon that she had seen in at the military headquarters in London. It was still, but hinted at a caged, deadly power.

Sir Severus, Charles' cousin, was an academic man of late middle age. He had been dragged down to Yorkshire by the indomitable Mrs. Blake, but seemed entirely out of place. Cora understood that he had spent his whole life studying the feeding patterns of insects. She had to repress the thought that he looked quite like a beetle himself.

"We have to thank you, Lady Grantham, for your kindness in attending to my cousin. And all these other officers. It is commendable work.", said Sir Severus, in the clipped monotone of someone delivering a prepared speech. A speech perhaps written for him by another.

"It is our please Sir Severus. Charles is a good friend of Lord Grantham's heir, so he is welcome to stay as long as necessary."

"That would be very kind. Due to his head injury, Dr Clarkson would not like to move him for several months. It is good to know that he will be with those he knows.", said Mrs Blake.

Cora wondered why Mrs. Blake herself had not asked to stay, but supposed it was out of politeness. For some reason, she only wished to stay the three proposed days of her visit. Perhaps seeing Charles in such a state had been too difficult. Cora could understand that, it must be heart breaking when your only child cannot recognize you.

Hortense, unaware of Cora's scrutiny was doing some scrutinizing of her own. She knew of Mary slightly, through Charles, and regretted that that capable young woman was already married. Mary, after all, was groomed to be the chatelaine of a great estate. Charles needed a strong partner by his side, and with his new injury, the right wife was crucial. Hortense was very proud of his son, and how he understood that his role as an aristocrat was not to play the great lord, but to truly understand what change was needed. She looked over at the other girl, the one who was a nurse, but dismissed the girl as a viable option. There was something all too much of the earnest idealist to Sybil Crawley. Hortense would have to rustle up someone from the roster of distant Blake cousins.

After luncheon, the Blakes took their leave, and Mary escorted her Mama to her sitting room.

"Where's Sybil? I didn't think she had rounds this afternoon.", said Cora.

"She does not, but she has committed to helping Charles with some memory exercises for one hour every day. She seems to enjoy it."

"Well, let's not interfere with that," said her Mama with a smile.

"Oh Mama, don't be so transparent.", and Mary settled in the corner of the room with a book. She could not help thinking of Sybil and Tom. Mary did not dislike the chauffeur, and, in the end, if Sybil really insisted in making such a break, Mary would support her. And yet, she still held out hope for her sister to make a more conventional choice. It also struck Mary that Tom was Sybil's first love, and so perhaps another, substantial interest would allow for that love to be properly tested. The step that Sybil may take with Tom was a drastic one, a choice that would mean a drastically different future., and it was important for Sybil to be extremely sure. And, added Mary's inner feudal, Charles Blake would make things a lot tidier.

Xx

Completely unaware of the conflicting thoughts coursing through her sister's head, Sybil was sitting with Charles in the library. She had assembled a variety of books that Mary had indicated were volumes that Charles were very likely to have read. Some of Charles' memories seemed to be passages of text, and Sybil and Dr Clarkson hoped that engaging him thusly would help spark a train of memories. Charles listened to her reading with his eyes closed. His head ached as it always did, but this was the most pleasant part of his day. While nothing she read ignited a memory, there was something familiar and comfortable about the ability of a soft voice to animate a passage of dry text. He had always liked being read to.

"I always liked being read to." He said out loud.

"Do you remember something?"

"Nothing specific. Just that I enjoy when someone reads to me."

Sybil smiled jubilantly and made a note in her little nurse's book. "It's still something to celebrate, recalling parts of who you were. Shall we stop for today?"

"Would you mind reading just a little while longer?"

"Not at all."

Xx

 **February 1917**

Mary sat in the little parlour at Crawley House, going through some of her notes on crop rotation. She looked up and gazed out the window, noticing a line of men standing outside. She entered into a little daydream, as she always did, that one of these men was Matthew. He would walk up the garden path, wave at her and then slip in the door with that half smile of his. So lost was she in the reverie that she quite jumped when a knock on the window alerted her to the presence of the very subject of her dreams. She rushed outside and into his arms.

"You didn't say you were coming today!"

"We caught an earlier train, and I thought I'd surprise you. Branson is just behind me with the luggage. Do you suppose we can put him up in the butler's old rooms? I wasn't sure if he would have a room at the Abbey."

"Certainly . Hello Corporal, if you would take Captain Crawley's bag to the second floor and your own to the room in the attic, that would be most kind. If you pop down to the kitchen afterwards, Mrs. Bird will make sure you have some tea and cake."

Matthew waits for Tom to disappear into the house before he rebukes his wife.

"Darling, Tom is my friend now, and he might be your brother-in-law. Try not to be so pompous."

" _Corporal Branson_ is still my father's chauffeur and your soldier-servant. Nothing has quite changed, yet. I promise to amend myself when things are different."

"My antideluvian wife."

"If you came back just to scold me…."

"I came back to see my son.", he teased.

With a quirk of her eyebrow, she led him inside and rang for tea. "You are not to see your son until you have had a bath and changed out of that uniform."

He smiled and sank with relief into an armchair. He was not allowed more than five minutes rest for , with great uproar and commotion, Nanny burst into the room.

"Nanny! What is the meaning of this behaviour?", said Mary in a voice that could have caused instant hypothermia.

"I will not have it milady, I will not have Mrs. Bird!"

"Have you been instructed to 'have Mrs. Bird'? Pull yourself together and speak in coherent sentences.", said Mary in her best imitation of the Dowager. Matthew, for all his rebuke of his wife earlier, was greatly enjoying this present exchange.

"Milady, perhaps you are unaware that Mrs. Bird has been entertaining vagrants in the kitchen."

"My my, how exciting. I certainly hope that by vagrant you do not mean Corporal Branson, who is Captain Crawley's batman."

"No milady, it is not a uniformed soldier. Last week, a rough sort came by looking for a scrap of food. Mrs. Bird indulged him, and now she's feeding three more. We cannot have that sort around Master George. "

"I hope you aren't taking Master George to the kitchens. Mrs. Bird should be here shortly, I have rung for tea. You may go, Nanny. And Nanny? I do not appreciate tattle tales."

The master and mistress of the house exchange quiet laughter as Nanny, looking for all the world like a steam engine, exits the room. Mrs. Bird enters with a loaded tray and a delighted smile and nods excitedly to Matthew.

"Pleased to have you back safe, sir. Mrs. Crawley asked me to make you all the things you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bird. I'd like you to take special care of Corporal Branson."

"Mrs. Bird, Nanny has told me that you are running something of a soup kitchen." Mary has never been one for niceties.

Mrs. Bird looks a little uncomfortable. "I should have told you before milady. There was a young man came by last week. He had been a soldier, but he lost his arm in the war and cannot get any work in the village. I fed him, poor soul, and he came back today with some friends. They've all been injured badly and can't get work for love nor money. I only feed them from my rations."

"What a terrible predicament.", says Matthew, " I do not think Lady Mary or I have any objection to you feeding them, but that doesn't sound like a sustainable solution."

"It certainly does not. I give you permission to use any extras from the larder, Mrs. Bird. However, allow us to think of a proper solution. In the meantime, could you please ask Beth to draw a warm bath for Captain Crawley?"

"Yes milady."

"And I will remind you Mrs. Bird that until Mrs. Crawley returns, and I am the mistress of the house, I do not appreciate being told news second hand."

"Yes, milady."

After Mrs. Bird leaves, Matthew looks with amusement at his wife. "Not an hour at home and you have already upbraided half the household."

She has the grace to respond with a guilty smile. " I shall have to consult Granny and Mama about these men. Speaking of which, I just had a letter from Mr. Barrow. He sustained a wound at the front and is being sent back home."

"Didn't he volunteer for the medical corps?"

"Yes, but he was sent to the front. He asks whether we can employ him here. I know we don't really need a butler, it would be unfair to Mr Moseley if we changed our minds, and I won't hire staff without Isobel's approval. I think I may second him to the hospital, they're overrun with wounded."

"You seem to do a lot for Mr. Barrow."

"There are some people who you need to keep close."

"What a curious speech."

"Shall we say that Mr. Barrow is in my debt? It is important to have someone who you know …is your creature."

"I beg you not to expand on that. I shan't be privy to your machinations. Robert tells me it is much better to live in a world of ignorant bliss."

Mary only smiled at him fondly. "Go take your bath. Nanny will bring George in soon."

Xx

The day after his arrival, a suited and booted Corporal Branson waited outside the gates to the hospital, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He was rewarded after a quarter of an hour's wait when a young nurse, her arms full of books, stepped out of these same gates.

"Can I carry your books, Nurse Crawley?"

"Hello Tom! How lovely to see you! Yes, please. Walk with me back to the house. Oh, how are you? Tell me everything you couldn't put into your letters."

He smiles at her and her enthusiasm for his thoughts and they chat merrily as they walk. To the casual observer, they look for all the world like any other nurse and her soldier sweetheart. Indeed, the Dowager, passing by in the car on the other side of the street fails to notice. This is a lucky thing, for our would-be lovers are so wrapped up in their conversation that they would have failed to notice _her_.

"Do you suppose you can find time to get away properly? Maybe have a cup of tea somewhere?", asks Tom as they round the hill and come within sight of the house.

"I will try. When do you go to Leeds?"

"At the end of the week, just for a day or two. Then I will come back to pick up the Captain."

"Perhaps tomorrow, in the hour right after tea? I usually spend it with Mr. Blake, but I could ask another nurse to take over my duties."

"You are helping Mr. Blake, then?"

"Oh yes. It's fascinating, really, to assist him with his memory. The mind is such a peculiar instrument when you consider what it chooses to retain and what it forgets. He remembers words, long passages from books, but not his name or his relationships. I am making quite a study of it."

"How does Mr. Blake feel to be your specimen?"

"I don't think he is aware that he is under study. We mostly spend the time reading together, or talking over familiar subjects or other little exercises that the doctor gives us."

Tom feels the slightest pang of jealously. Sybil has not given him her absolute 'yes' as yet, and our Tom is a young man who is passionately in love. Thankfully, Sybil's smiling face stops him from responding melodramatically.

"Well, let me know when you can get away."

"I will. It's wonderful to see you again, I have missed you so!"

They part with smiles of promise. They are too near the house for any other kind of affection. As he walks away, Sybil thinks to herself that she will soon need to make a decision. Her mind has been so preoccupied with her nursing and medical study that she has not given adequate thought to any of it. Is she ready? Can she really cut the ties and give herself to Tom? She knows that she wants to be with him, but cannot ascertain if she is quite ready. When she looks into Tom's eyes, her flesh was certainly very willing, it was her spirit that was torn.

Xx

That evening, Mary and Matthew drive up to the house for dinner. They talk seriously of Isobel, where she is, and if there was any feasibility of persuading her to return. Neither can resist, lover-like, in stealing long glances at the other.

 _How much older he looks now,_ thinks Mary, _our wedding day seems like so long ago. We were just young and in love and it was quite simple. War has not changed him really, Matthew is inalterable, but his soul is a little harder I think. I wonder if the scars on his body mimic wounds that are invisible what about those wounds that are invisible to me?_ She shuddered a little to think of the way his body had changed, the bruises and scars that she noticed marred his once unbroken skin, the small red circles here and there on his arms and legs that spoke of insect bites. She had noticed that in their time together now he seemed unwilling to dwell too long on serious topics, rather more interested in engaging in light badinage.

Matthew thoughts were a little more pleasant. _My girl-bride is no longer a girl._ Mary had always been bright, perspicacious, capricious, the tidal wave that crashed into his still little rock pool. She was still all these things, but the war had given meaning to her abilities, liberated her. He admired the way in which she was able to take in the injustices that the war was uncovering and simply respond with her cool-headed pragmatism. _My wife is a magnificent woman._

They separate in the hall. Matthew braces himself and, led by a maid, goes upstairs to visit Charles. He finds his friend seated in an armchair making notes.

"Charles! I am Matthew Crawley."

"Good to meet you , Matthew. I am told that we are close friends and colleagues."

"Indeed we are. Listen, old chap, I'm terribly sorry about all this."

" Please don't be. I am alive. My body is in one piece, even if my mind isn't."

"You are quite correct. Are the treatments helpful?"

"Recovery will be a long process. Nurse Crawley and Dr. Clarkson are attending me very faithfully."

"Said in the manner of Charles Blake. Won't you join us for dinner? I would be very pleased to have you do so."

"I'm afraid I have already eaten. The family has been kind enough to ask me to dinner but I find that a crowd of conversationalists is still far too much for my brain to handle."

"Of course. Perfectly understandable. Perhaps, while I am here, you would take tea with myself and my wife? We could have Nurse Crawley join us so you would have support."

"Certainly."

Indeed, thinks Charles to himself, it would be extremely pleasant to have Nurse Crawley's support.


	33. Chapter 33

**Thank you for reviews and follows! I don't want to work today, so here's a small chapter.**

 **Also, if you aren't listening to the Hamilton soundtrack…. You should be.**

 **March 1917**

Edith walked the grounds of Locksley with her Head Gardener, Mr. Moseley, as they discussed the planning of the gardens for the spring. Although Locksley did not enjoy the extensive woodlands of Downton Abbey, the estate boasted three ornamental gardens, extensive kitchen gardens and a sprawling lawn that required the services of four full time staff. Mr. Moseley, though unsure if the movement from butler/valet to gardener was a promotion or not, was pleasantly surprised to find himself overseeing four members of staff, and enjoying the privilege of an independent cottage. There was also excellent care for his ageing father, and the Strallans, on the whole, were kind employers.

"Do you suppose, Mr. Moseley, that we could create a kind of children's space? An inner garden somewhere for Master Robert and Miss Marigold to run around and play? I'd like a safe place for them to mess about during the spring and the summer."

"We could build a small enclosure at the end of the south garden, milady. Something of a secret garden?"

"Oh yes that would be very jolly, wouldn't it? A little pond, perhaps. Nothing too deep. A few benches for the nannies to sit."

"I will speak to Mr. Lattimer, then, milady, see if we can't scare up some bricks from the yard. The lads can start the digging tomorrow if the weather holds."

"Wonderful. Well I must be getting back, I am hosting a knitter's group from the village, socks for the boys!"

"May I take the liberty of saying how much we admire the efforts you are making towards the war, milady?"

"I am happy to play a part. Ah, before I forget, would you kindly make some time next week to talk to Sir Anthony and myself about the renovations to the Italian Garden? And I rather think we may need to rethink some of the planting in the east gardens, perhaps choose something more patriotic for the borders."

"I will consider it, milady, and seek my father's advice."

 _Rum thing,_ thought Mr Moseley, _that patriotism affects gardens too. Although, it is probably right. We must all do what we can._

Xx

The Earl of Grantham was an uncomplicated man. On leave from the War Office, he envisioned the coming weeks at Downton as an endless, sun-filled romp through the country with plenty of tea and loving smiles from his wife. He had quite forgotten the chaos of the soldiers, nurses and orderlies. As he and Bates arrived, he almost instructed the driver to turn back around. Cora is waiting outside. With a clipboard.

"I thought you were here to greet me.", said the Earl almost petulantly.

"I am glad to see you darling, but we've just had some new arrivals and I need to see them settled. Go up and change, and we can have a proper catch up before dinner."

The Earl acquiesces. Bates hurries through the change and the storing of the luggage and soon finds himself on the path back to the village to see Anna. There, in the quiet of the back garden, he whispers to her that his divorce is imminent and that His Lordship has also given his approval. Although Mr. Bates does not make a formal proposal – how it would have shocked Lady Mary if she knew the details- the couple now consider themselves to be properly betrothed. In the midst of her joy, Anna thinks of Lady Mary. Once the war is over, the family will move back to London. Will she have to settle for seeing her husband only on weekends?

xx

Violet, Mary and the Strallans are all at dinner at Downton, to mark Robert's return. Conversations before dinner range from the tightening of rations, to that 'odious man Lloyd George' – the Dowager of course- , to trenchfoot, and nannies. Dinner provided an opportunity for more private confabs.

 **Lady Mary Crawley and Sir Anthony Strallan**

"I may have a new project for you, Anthony. Are you willing?"

"What would this be, Mary?"

"Our cook is running a soup kitchen for ex-soldiers who are too wounded to go back to work. The poor men are almost destitute. Mama and Granny have agreed to provide some capital for a scheme that helps them retrain and find a new skill."

"You need me to provide the scheme?"

"At least help me to flesh out the details. I rather thought it would be just up Edith's street. I must admit I can't for the life of me think what sort of new skills would be needed. I admit my knowledge of the local economy is a little limited."

"I find it a capital idea. I will engage Edith with it directly tonight. I would have thought this was more in Isobel's area of expertise."

"She would be the ideal person, but as you know, she is in France helping with evacuees. I have written to her, in fact, and hope that if we can get something going, she could come back to supervise it."

"I see Mary, you are killing a few different birds with that stone. How very practical of you."

"I hope you had not concluded that I was motivated by sentiment."

"No one would ever suppose that of you, dear sister."

The term of endearment almost causes Mary to choke on a potato.

 **The Earl and Countess of Grantham and the Dowager**

With a throaty chuckle, the Dowager says to her son and daughter-in-law, " I shall never tire of hearing Anthony address Mary as 'sister."

"He's a braver man than I am Gunga Din.", responds Robert.

"Although, they do get on quite well in their more political objectives. It's really so lovely to see the girls engaged like this.", Cora does not enjoy the joke as much as her husband and mother-in-law.

"Sybil most of all, I think. She's flourishing." ,observed the Dowager. "Is she having much success with Captain Blake?"

"Oh I think they have made some progress. He was able to recall some details of his work before the war."

"That is not what I meant Cora, dear."

"Well, I really cannot say. They do spend an awful lot of time together, but it really is during the time dedicated to his recovery. The only time there was any social aspect to it was when Matthew was on leave."

"Surely, Mama,", said the Earl, "you do not wish to tie Sybil to an amnesiac."

"His memory will return, and when it does, he will be the heir to a significant portion of County Tyrone. I remember him as intelligent and capable, he will make Sybil a fine husband."

"The thing is, Mama," said Cora, " Sybil only speaks of him medically, she doesn't seem to show any signs of attraction."

"I find that very odd. I had an endless series of crushes at her age. Do you suppose there is someone else, someone she feels she has to keep secret?"

"No, not at all. That is not something Sybil would keep a secret about. That's more Mary's style.", said the Earl. A speech that he would revisit many times in the years to come.

 **Lady Edith Strallan and Nurse Sybil Crawley**

"How is baby Marigold?"

"Charming. She rather has Anthony wrapped around her little finger."

"Papa said that when Anthony rang with the news he was quite shouting with joy."

"Yes. Anthony says I have given him back his life."

"How lovely of him to say so. And how are all your other projects?"

"Tiring, but I know they are necessary and worthwhile. The daily reports of the war are quite terrible. Did you know that Cousin Annabel's fiancé died in the Somme?"

"Mama told me a few weeks ago. I 'm surprised we didn't know earlier."

"I'm sure we saw the name in the paper and didn't connect it. I didn't even know they were formally engaged. It is hard to keep track. Evelyn Napier wrote to me to say that he was being sent home. I asked if he could convalesce here but Dr. Clarkson said that we had already used up our favours with Charles."

"I suppose we have to be fair about it. Charles receives a lot of attention because of how close he is to Matthew."

"And because no one dares say no to Mary."

"I rather think this has to do with Matthew. Mama and Papa still feel quite remorseful for the time Matthew went through when Mama was pregnant. They are quite fixated on Matthew as a son."

"So Mary has been usurped in position and affection."

Sybil sighed inside. The war may have called a détente between her sisters, but there were some old wounds that would never quite stop festering.

Xx

Isobel, somewhere in the North of France ( sorry, Divine Felines again), tends to a young pregnant woman refugee. In France, refugees received some help from the state, but it was charitable organisations, founded on religious and national lines who were able to provide specific care. Isobel had been charged with ascertaining this particular young lady's story. Refugees are a tale as old as time, and suspicion and prejudice against alterity even older. Therefore, as the war waged on the and the numbers of those fleeing desperate situations grew, even aid workers had to verify that these people claiming care, were authentic. Humanitarian has always been bound up in the complex assemblage of the cruelty of the superstructure. End of narrator's other soapbox.

So tired and broken that she thinks wistfully of tea time head to heads with the Dowager, Isobel finished her task and headed towards the makeshift headquarters. She is taken aside by Gertrude Fitzwilliam, the nominal head of their unit.

"Mrs. Crawley, I wonder, how you will feel about what I am about to ask you. Let me preface this by saying that you are one of the best additions to our effort. However, we are quite overrun with volunteers. Our corresponding unit in Bergen op Zoom in the Netherlands is flagging. They receive floods of Belgian refugees everyday. Would you at all consider lending them your services? The Belgians are being sent on to England, so we are in need of British aid workers."

Isobel is Isobel. Martyr, girl Friday, termagant, victim, hero, and aspiring Pope all rolled into one.

"I must go where the need is greatest."

And so, with a quickly scribbled note to Matthew, she heads onwards.

Xx

 **April 1917**

On an early April day, with sweet warm winds full of the fragrance of spring, Sybil and Charles made a long hike to the hill at the border of the Downton estate. They stopped for a few minutes, enjoying the view. Charles furrowed his brow suddenly.

"Matthew brought me here, to show me the divisions between the different farms."

"Was that when he was on leave? Surely I would have written that down."

"No, it was….before. We came up from Crawley House, but didn't go to the Abbey because he didn't want to see Mary."

"Charles! That is a real memory. How much do you remember of it?"

"All of it. The weather, our conversation, that he seemed a little despondent."

The two young people stared at each other for a while, realising what had just happened.

"Well,", said Blake, " I suppose this means that it is time for me to leave Downton. Dr. Clarkson cleared me physically last week."

"I admit I am sad to hear that, but so happy for you, Charles."

"Will you permit me to write to you?"

"What a quaint thing to say! Of course you may write to me, Charles, why wouldn't you?"

As they return to the house, Charles' mind is full of the same questions of the Dowager, _Does Sybil have preoccupations outside her work and study? And if she doesn't, would she, someday?_

xx


	34. Chapter 34

**Thanks for those reading/reviewing and following. Also, I liked Charles Blake and really like Julian Ovenden. Never understood why the character was properly fleshed out without eventually becoming Mary's husband. V. odd.**

 **Anyway, on with the thing.**

 **July 1917**

A German heavy air bomber called the Gotha G.V causes a rather sticky wicket for the British Royal Family, that is, the House of Saxe-Coburg Gotha. Anti-German sentiment was very high, and the Royal Family being all "bloody German" as the eminent actor Stephen Fry has it, had to make a very British change to the House of Windsor. The nation was British, bought British, wore British and spouted British values ( whatever that is, there really is no single consensus on this last.).

The very English Mary Crawley sat down to luncheon with her Aunt Rosamund and remarked that the amount of bunting and posters in the centre of the city was almost overwhelming.

"Well they have to keep spirits up, remind us of how we need to pull together.", responded Rosamund.

"Spare me, please. We get enough of that from Edith. I am here for a break from all of that."

"Is that your reason for visiting London?"

"Not quite. I wanted to check on the house, and besides I have a meeting of the Peace Society this evening. "

"You really must be careful, Mary. Every day I hear about pacifists being imprisoned or fined. I'm not quite sure that they have the right sort of politics."

"I'm not circulating pamphlets, Aunt Rosamund. Merely giving my support. I'm not a socialist. I am applying influence where it is necessary, which is the point of the aristocracy. I rather think it is important for us to act in certain ways in order that the status quo not be challenged. Look at what has happened in Russia. We mustn't ignore problems, we must be practical. I'm going to be the Countess of Grantham one day, and that means maintaining certain rules of living and life."

"Very well. I just often wonder if peace activists are quite on our side."

"Of course they are. Most of us are ardent patriots, too. You'd be surprised."

"Speaking of surprises, when does Sybil get in?"

"She's on the evening train, so she will be just in time for dinner."

"What do you have planned for tomorrow?"

"Nothing special. It's Sybil's day off and we just rather wanted a day without too many things to think about. There isn't much shopping to do, so I dare say perhaps a wander in the National Gallery, a walk in the park, that sort of thing. And we're having luncheon at the London home of Charles Blake. His mother very kindly invited us."

"At Charles' bequest, no doubt. Cora said that he and Sybil were getting to be rather good friends.", remarked Rosamund, raising an eyebrow.

" Mama reads so much into everything. Sybil nursed him while he was at Downton,", said Mary noncommittally, "and we are _both_ eager to see how he is getting on."

A beat.

"Mama says that his estate in County Tyrone is amongst the prettiest Irish countryside.", said Rosamund as if apropos of nothing.

"Is it?", said Mary with equal carelessness. To herself, she though: _Well, one way or the other, Sybil seems destined for Ireland._

Xx

Charles Blake owned a small, smart terraced house in South Kensington, a location that had caused Mary to taunt him mercilessly. Charles Blake, who envisioned a revolutionized aristocracy, living in affluence? He had always defended himself by saying that this was his mother's choice. Indeed. It would not be incorrect to say that this was more Hortense's residence than Charles'.

A creaky old butler showed the two Crawley sisters into a classically appointed sitting room, in which Charles Blake stood around looking rather uncomfortable. Most of this, of course, was because he still did not quite remember everything about his old life. _He looks like a guest_ , thought Sybil with great empathy.

He smiled with relief to see them, the scar on his face, although faded, making the expression look just slightly macabre. In Mary, it caused just the tiniest shiver. In Sybil, it only increased the compassion with which she regarded him.

"Hello, Lady Mary!", said a voice behind them. It is Henry Talbot, clad in the uniform of a naval officer, his left arm encased in a sling.

"How lovely to see you! What happened to your arm?", said Mary.

"Jutland, made it to the end and then, damn thing. Now you know why you haven't heard much from me, then. I've been recuperating at my Uncle Gordon's up in Inverness. Endless rain seemed the right thing for the mood I was in. Been back in London a few months, heard Blake was as well. So here we are, me with just the one arm and old Charles with only half his mind."

"Lieutenant Talbot has been very kind, telling Charles of all the time they spent together and trying to convince him to get back into society."

"With very little luck, I am sad to say.", said Charles speaking for the first time.

"Shall we go into luncheon?," asked Mrs. Blake, " I'm afraid it's bare bones, but we've got a lovely Beaujolais to complement things."

At luncheon, Mary is flanked by Charles and Henry, while Sybil is placed between Mrs. Blake and her son. Mary notices the seating and judges from this that Mrs. Blake's invitation was not a casual one. She cannot imagine that Mrs. Blake judges Sybil to be a worthy partner for Charles, but perhaps the aim of the luncheon was to study Sybil closely. _Golly, I rather hope they marry now. Only to give Granny and Isobel some proper opposition._

"You are ignoring me, Lady Mary, and I call it bad manners.", says Henry.

"I rather think you should apologise to me, after all, your conversation has failed to keep me engrossed. Were you not taught the art of conversation at Eton? I suppose you spent all your time stealing policeman's helmets for a lark."

"The headmaster's cigars, actually. I'm glad to see that motherhood has not softened your wit."

"I rather think being a mother has increased my mental acuity. You need a rather decent sense of humour to get through labour with your sanity intact."

"A subject I know little of. Are you up at Downton for the foreseeable future?"

"Yes, until the war is over and then we return to Montrose Place. I've been by to see the house and the gardens are looking rather droopy. I shall have to see if the caretaker can get a man in. The caretaker himself wasn't there, he's had to go bury an aunt. I try not to be this way, truly I do, but it's always peculiar to remember that they have lives beyond our houses."

" I agree. My valet needed time off for a niece's wedding and it did throw me off, rather."

"Well it's easier with a valet or a lady's maid, you get to know them. Anna has opened my eyes to so many things. She is rather in love with Papa's valet, and I think an engagement is looming if it hasn't already happened. Apparently the kitchen maid at Downton was recently affianced to one of the foot men. It would seem that life below stairs is far more sensational than what happens in our drawing room. Trysts between maids and footmen and all sorts."

"The two of you really shouldn't laugh. I'm sure the staff find their love lives to be dreadfully serious.", interjected Sybil, causing Mrs. Blake to purse her lips.

"I quite agree. Rather bad form.", nodded Charles.

"Ah, that sounds like the old Charles, wanting a society of perfect equity. Do you know, I used to call you Iscariot?", Mary smiled at him.

"Then I hope that I called you Herod Antipas.", he said with a little bow of his head.

"I think you are coming back to us Charles.", said Mary with genuine affection.

Xx

After luncheon, the four young people set off on a little walk. Charles and Sybil walk slightly ahead of the other two, in mostly silence. Sybil looks and him and feels a deep sense of gladness that he is progressing so well. She sincerely likes Charles, especially his ability to see that the lives that the upper class lead are not the norm, in fact they could hardly be called rational. Having found meaning in her life, Sybil could only look back at the time before the war as being quite hollow in places. She was glad to find, in Charles , a peer who shared her views. She made a mental note to write to Tom and remind him that men like Charles and Matthew represented an aristocracy that didn't necessarily have to be rebelled against.

"A penny for your thoughts, Nurse Crawley?"

"You _can_ call me Sybil you know. I really don't care about formalities. I was just thinking about different lives."

"I consider myself something of an expert on that. The more I remember of the life I had, the more it feels to me like the life of another person. I am a man with two lives."

"Seven short of a cat. Will you live your new life differently?"

"Not too differently, he seems to have been an upstanding chap, Charles Blake the former. I think I will make only one or two changes.", and with this, Charles looked at her with an expression that made Sybil blush.

Xx

While her sisters are spending a light-hearted day in London, Edith Strallan is hard at work, putting together a scheme for re-training ex soldiers. When Anthony had first approached her with the idea, Edith had huffed.

"Typical Mary. Has an idea and then delegates it to those who she thinks are beneath her."

However, as she continued to reflect upon it, Edith felt a strong calling to see the scheme fulfilled. After all, were these not men who have sacrificed their livelihoods for King and Country? Didn't they deserve to be richly rewarded? They were, after all, the best of British.

Together, the Strallans had compiled a list of occupations that did not require extraneous manual labour, and required workers. None of the soldiers would receive full time work, but at least it was something that contained remuneration. Of course, Anthony maintained that it was time the government formalized and organized aid for men such as these. Such policies would be put in place in the latter stages of the war. Happily, the ex-soldiers that the Strallans took under their wing would not have to wait until then. Much of the problem, as Edith had identified, was that many of these men had had substandard educations, and a little more training in reading and arithmetic would be necessary so that they could take up small jobs as bookkeepers or train as clerks, or any other profession that didn't simply require the ability to lift. Even something as simple as writing a letter of inquiry needed finer training than what they had received in their few years at school.

As she made her notes, it struck her that Mr. Bates had worked at the Abbey as a fulltime valet, even though he had had a bad leg. She wondered if he would be a good resource for the scheme, and tried to recall how he did his duties with his handicap. Of course, Edith, having been a daughter of the house, was trained to never quite notice the servants and her memory seemed dim. Inspiration struck her when she remembered that she had someone under her employ who most likely could tell her. Clapping her hands together, and causing her butler to look askance, she hurried outside and found Mr. Moseley berating one of the under-gardeners for over watering the petunias.

"Mr. Moseley, I wonder if I might have a word."

"Of course, Your Ladyship. Is it about the roses in the Italian garden?"

"No not at all. I rather need your advice about something." Edith proceeded to outline the particulars of her scheme, and her curiosity about Mr. Bates.

"I could certainly tell you what I observed of Mr. Bates, and I agree that he'd be very keen to be part of this milady. If I may take the liberty, so would I. I've got some skill with teaching and I'd feel I was doing my part for the country if I could assist you with teaching these lads and helping them get on. And if you will pardon me again, milady, I am sure they would much rather take instruction from one such as myself than from someone you may hire."

Mr. Moseley has spoken with some nervousness, but he is rewarded by Edith's wide, bright, smile.

"That would be an ideal plan, Mr. Moseley. You could do it on your half day, perhaps? I will speak to Sir Anthony and make that a full day off. Might I still trouble you to speak to Mr. Bates? Perhaps we could employ both of you to be our 'instructors'?"

"An ideal plan, as you say, milady."

Edith walks away, full of new ideas for her scheme and feeling not a little joyous that she has taken Mary's proposal and made it into something truly viable.

Didn't I tell you that with love and the confidence of her husband, Edith Strallan would become a leader of the county? Plants grow in sunlight, nourishment and plenty of water. Of course, we must, as Mr. Moseley reminded Neil the under-gardner, never overdo it.


	35. Chapter 35

**I'm so grateful to those who read and review. And for the eagle eyed person who noticed the Moseley/Edith parallel, well done. There's always been a Barrow/Mary, Moseley/Edith arc of redemption/hubris that I think is better served through written narration rather than episodic TV.**

 _Letters_

 **Nurse Sybil Crawley to Corporal T. Branson**

 _August 4_ _th_ _1917_

 _Dear Tom,_

 _It was lovely to receive a letter, at last! I see you wrote it to me in April, but I only received it at the end of July. What you must think of my silence! Life has been inordinately busy lately, so much so that I am taking Mary's advice and making the most of my days off. We've gone to London at least twice, but my favourite way to relax is reading in the corner garden at Crawley House._

 _Captain Blake very kindly gifted to me a set of short stories by James Joyce. He really has me in his thrall. Joyce, not Captain Blake. I'm not sure why I feel the need to qualify that. On the subject of Captain Blake, he seems to be recovering every day and is good enough to update me regularly as to his progress. I continue to chart his case in my little notebook._

 _Perhaps, once the war is over, I will apply to train for a specialization in nursing. I must tell you, I am more fascinated by the study and the research than I am the practice of treatment. This is not to say that I do not enjoy my work. Indeed, I am always thrilled that my tiredness has a reason. Over the last two weeks, Dr. Clarkson has assigned me to the out-patient clinic and instead of dressing war wounds, I have been distributing ointments and weighing babies. I cannot tell you what it is like to rejoice over treating something as uncomplicated as a headache!_

 _We are following the events in Russia with some anguish. Did you know Granny and GrandPapa had travelled there? Mama says that Granny has some acquaintances who may have been affected. I pray that it is all resolved without too much more violence. I repeat to myself every day that this is not the kind of revolution you have ever championed. I thank you for that. I am afraid that the events have rather shaken many peers that we know. I know you find our kind of life difficult, and I agree, yet, these are still families who live, who breathe, who love, who bleed._

 _There is no real news to report from here. Baby George is over a year now, and has quite the little personality. He is very precious and has Matthew's piercing eyes. I do not see Robbie and Marigold as much as I would like, for I rarely have an occasion to go to Locksley. The Strallans will stay three days at Downton over Christmas, and I look forward to getting to know the children then. Robbie is about to be three, only think of that! It's so delightful to be An Aunt, although, I was always scared of Aunt Rosamund when we were younger. I hope I shan't be as interfering as she is!_

 _And with that uncharitable thought I shall close. Write as soon as you can._

 _Your friend,_

 _Sybil._

Xx

 **Lady Edith Strallan to Sir Anthony Strallan**

 _August 15_ _th_ _, 1917_

 _Dearest Anthony,_

 _I am writing to you from my bedroom. The evening fire has been lit and I am just waiting for Baker to come in and dress me for dinner. It is lonely to sit down to dinner on my own. I know you are only in Oxford for two weeks but it is our first true separation since we married, so you will forgive me if I feel a little like a dog without his Master._

 _There, the moment of self pity is over and I can bring you up to date with some news. The children are as happy and content as they were when you left. Robbie is driving Nanny quite wild. In addition to "Don't like carrots" and "Don't like peas", he also now says "Don't like Nanny" and says it every time she walks into a room. I think it is because Nanny is the source of the aforementioned peas and carrots. It is easier to love the Mama who only ever feeds him cake at tea time than the lady who forces you to face your vegetables. I remember Mary and I would torment Nanny by hiding our daily egg in her bag._

 _Happily, Mary and I are pulling together for less devious reasons nowadays. You were right to suggest that we use the servant's parlour at Crawley House for our scheme. it is easier for Mr. Bates, and Mr. Moseley enjoys going back to the house and having a chat with Mrs. Bird. We only have six pupils at the moment, if the scheme expands we shall have to find a larger space. Mr. Moseley is a patient and kind teacher, I sat in on one session and feel that he has rather missed his calling. I do not know what will come of it all, but at least these poor men are getting a solid meal once a week. Mary, I must admit, has a kind of genius for arranging these logistics., and for getting Dr. Clarkson to give each man a proper medical exam She has written to Cousin Isobel, asking her to return and take over the running of the scheme (especially in case of expansion)._

 _You are greatly missed, darling. I hope all your meetings are not too odious._

 _With love,_

 _Edith._

 _Xx_

 **Lady Mary Crawley to Captain M Crawley**

 _August 25_ _th_ _, 1917_

 _Husband of husbands,_

 _George has just been taken back to the nursery. I must tell you that when I showed him your picture he pointed at it and cried "Da! Da! Da!". It was quite precious, but I hope it doesn't mean he's boiling up to call you Daddy._

 _Sybil is here. She finds every excuse to be at Crawley House and I am not quite sure why. There is something on her mind, and I think it is a growing affection for Charles Blake. She doesn't seem to find joy in it, though. Some day, I suppose I shall have to speak to her about it. It may be prudent for you to prepare Corporal Branson. You see, I am not so heartless as they say._

 _Love seems to be in the air this summer. Anna told me last night that everything is fixed between herself and Mr. Bates. They are only awaiting his decree nisi, and then they 'will to church'. I am not sure how the living arrangement will work out. Papa won't give up Bates and I shan't give up Anna. Perhaps we shall have to hope that they will be happy enough to see each other only on the weekends. I am prepared to give Anna all of a Monday off in order to allow her three days at Downton. Do you suppose that would be a good compromise? How I miss your way of appraising everything._

 _You say that your last letter from Isobel was the note she sent in May advising of her new address. I have since written to her and have not had any response. I wrote again last week as I hope she will soon come back to aid us in our little project for ex-servicemen. Dr. Clarkson seems more agitated than I feel. I think he found your mother to be a little irritating when she was constantly by his side, but I suppose absence has made the heart grow fonder._

 _Barrow seems to be doing well at the hospital. He is really quite efficient, and what's more, he has his ear to the ground. Nothing seems to get by him, which is both a blessing and a curse with a servant. I think I will engage him when he has time, to go to London and upbraid Mr. Eade. The gardens at Montrose were in a shocking state. I did not have the desire to handle the issue directly, but I am confident that Barrow will greatly enjoy reprimanding Mr. Eade. He does thrive on being in charge. I will also commission Barrow to find a part-time gardener for the house. I hope you don't mind that darling._

 _Granny asked to be remembered to you. War has robbed her of any good intrigue and with Mama and Isobel no longer at each other throats, she's rather gasping for amusement. I only hope it doesn't allow her to ferret out Sybil 's little secret._

 _What a blowsy, gossipy letter this has been. Come home to me soon._

 _Your Mary._

 _Xx_

 **September 1917**

Corporal William Mason looked at the world around him and felt that nothing could be finer. Here he was, free of the mud of the trenches, striding up the drive of Downton Abbey, and longing to see his sweet, young fiancée. They were to be married while he was on leave and, had Mrs. Wilson see our William, she would have found him to be much moonier than an early Mr. Crawley. So wrapped up in himself was William that he almost tripped over Mr. Bates and Anna as they made their way down the drive. Of course, those two were having a rather intense conversation and did not notice William either.

"Hello William, don't you look smart?", said Anna, kissing him on the cheek.

"William, good to see you," and Mr. Bates extended a warm hand.

"Wonderful to see you both!"

Anna laughed at his glee. "Go on in, she's just finished clearing the servant's breakfasts. We'll see you later."

William presented himself in the servant's hall much to the joy of all the staff. Mrs. Patmore felt quite weepy and had to concentrate very hard on the pie she was preparing, so that no one would see the tears coursing down her face. Hours later, on tucking into it, the Earl would remark that the pastry was really quite salty, causing the Countess to remark that it was rude to criticise a servant when the others could be listening in.

Daisy was not as overjoyed to see her fiancé, she felt a certain nervousness with regards to her upcoming wedding. This was not through any lack of affection. Thomas' early departure from the Abbey with Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley had allowed for William and Daisy to kindle a sweet, if not passionate, relationship. Daisy had promised him her hand when he went to war, but worried that they were moving into marriage too hastily. However, Mrs. Patmore told her she'd regret it if he died in battle, so Daisy had acquiesced to a quicker wedding that she had expected.

"Come and give me a kiss.", said William, espying his fiancée. She went to him readily, and held him, thank God for his safe return.

"You can give him a cup of tea, but then you must be away, Corporal. It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.", said Mrs. Hughes indulgently.

"And I've got to do the savouries for dinner.", whispered Daisy.

"I'll be off to the farm, don't you worry."

Daisy sat next to him and poured him his tea. She cheekily smiled and slipped a plate of treacle tart across to him as well.

"How did you manage that?"

"Kept aside a little from the servant's supper last night, and hid it in the breadbox. I'm the only one who ever gets into that."

"You're too good to me, Daisy. I've got something tell you."

"Have you?", she raised wide and expectant eyes.

He took her hand. "I've been discussing this with my father, and, now that my mum's gone, I feel I could follow my real passion. I want to work on the farm you see, work with the animals. So I won't be coming back to service."

"Does that mean we would both move to the farm? I don't know, William, I don't want to leave service. Mrs. Patmore's training me up properly, and I can't leave her."

"Well if you don't want to you don't have to work, the farm will sustain us."

"I don't want to leave service, not just yet. "

"That's what my father thought. I don't want to take you away from what you love, Daisy. Would you be content if we only saw each other on your days off? The bus is pretty regular now. And I could come up and see you often. We'll have to manage being apart during the war anyway."

The proposal seems to ease something in Daisy. This would really delay being properly married till she felt she was ready.

"And maybe when you are ready to leave service, you could come help run the farm with us? Dad says you could easily do a great trade in bakes and chutneys."

"Maybe we could open a tea shop?", says Daisy with adolescent glee.

"That's an idea."

And so, the next day, full of hopes and plans for the future, as our other Downton brides have been, Daisy is walked down the aisle of the little church by a twinkly eyed Mr. Carson. The wedding is short and sweet. Mr. Travis has another four quickie weddings to perform that day. As he makes the sign of the cross over their rings he sighs heavily, hoping that he has not made another war widow.

The reception at the farm is small, with just the few staff who had their half day. As they wave goodbye to the happy couple – for Daisy was to stay that night at the farm- Mr. Bates and Anna looked at each other with fervent prayer that they, too, would soon find themselves wed.

The staff return to the Abbey, weary from a joyous day, only to find the family in a great state of excitement.

"Oh Mr. Carson, Mr. Bates you must go to His Lordship, he has been calling for you this last half hour. Anna, you as well." , says a fluttery housemaid who is equal parts distressed and equal parts elated to have some excitement in the house.

The three servants rush to the library to find the Earl all a -quiver, the Countess looking piqued and the Dowager in high dudgeon.

"Anna,", says that venerable old lady, " are you not with Lady Mary?"

"No, your Ladyship, it was my day off, and she said that as she was in London she could use Lady Rosamund's maid."

The Dowager snorted.

"Do you know why she was in London?"

"A meeting of the Peace Society, your Ladyship. She was to go listen to a lecture."

"A lecture indeed! Did you know that one of the speakers was Edward Hastings, the socialist philosopher?", fumed the Earl.

"No, milord. She went to hear the lecture by the Duke of Ealing, it was recommended to her by Sir Anthony."

"Sir Anthony! Sir Anthony! Yes I've sent a message to Locksley. Sir Anthony himself did not attend the meeting!", said the Earl with venom.

"But, Milord, what has happened?", asked

"Someone let that man Hastings speak, he has been under a warning since he distributed an anti-conscription pamphlet. Anyway, the police arrived and everyone at the meeting was arrested, as associated with him! Now I have to go to London and stand surety for Lady Mary. Bates, you will pack as quickly as you can and we will take the last train. Although, I feel I ought to let her stay in there a few more days. Why is it always my daughters who do blasted stupid things?"

The Dowager looked at Cora pointedly.

"Oh stop it Mama. Mary is hardly the only aristocrat who supports a peaceful situation. And she was hardly the only aristocrat at the meeting. You could hardly say that the Duke of Ealing espouses the same things as Edward Hastings."

"Be that as it may, Mary has brought scandal upon us once more!"

Xx

 **Fyi, the philosopher and social critic Bertrand Russell was similarly imprisoned for the distribution of a tract condemning conscription and I have based Hastings on him. There were pacifists of all ilks and sometimes, hysteria leads to unfair imprisonment.**


	36. Chapter 36

Edith stormed into her husband's study thirty minutes after receiving her Papa's message. She walked in, locked the door and looked at Anthony with eyes full of tears. He stood up and expressed his regret that Mary was undergoing an ordeal.

"I told Robert that I was willing to accompany him to London, but he said that it would be an overcomplication."

"I am quite distressed that Mary 's presence at this event is by your recommendation, but that is not why I find myself so full of emotion. For how long have I told you that your pacifist stance will only be taken as anti-war and unpatriotic? It is so foolish, Anthony. It was one thing when it was just informational evenings and influence, and that you only participated in efforts here in the village. You cannot make your support so public, Mary has been unusually foolish herself by attending meetings in London."

"Hastings was not supposed to be at that meeting. The Peace Society is made up of moderates, peers and conservatives. I can't imagine who invited the damned fellow or publicised it."

"Anthony I feel that you do not quite understand me."

"I understand you. Is that what you think? That I am not a patriot?"

"I would never think that of you. I have asked you to be careful, to rethink your stance, and what happened to Mary is exactly why I do so."

"Edith I have been in a war. It is unnecessary, it is inhumane. If you have seen what I have seen…"

"I respect that Anthony, I do, but I still find it hard to understand you. If you are imprisoned, you leave me with two children. How do I explain it all to Robert and Marigold?"

"That their father was a man who stood by his principles."

Narrator's interjection – unlike the fights between Mary and Matthew, this was not a shouting match. In fact, this was the first real fight the Strallans had had. Anthony was not one for melodramatic scenes, and Edith was more the type to snipe at her husband than confront an issue head on. Such a scene as we are witnessing show the extremis in which we find the Strallans.

Edith does not respond to her husband's last statement. Instead she collapses on the chaise longue and gives in to the tears that she has been holding back. They are tears of worry for her sister, grief for the entire three years that the country has been at war, and the months of frustration that she has had with her husband.

Anthony looks at her with despair. He has never seen Edith so overcome. The love that they share is a gentle, quiet love. He sits by her and takes his hands in hers. "Oh my darling.", he whispers and kisses the tears trailing down her cheeks. She looks him directly in the eye and they feel that the tension and worry that had been building around them had finally been given voice to. He kisses her mouth softly, and she deepens the kiss. And with that, the master and mistress take full advantage of the fact that it is their house, and that the door is locked.

After, he kisses her hand and says, "I think we've ruined this rug."

She blushed and giggled, "I've always thought it was quite old fashioned anyway."

"Darling, I must tell you, you have given me back my life. I'm sorry that you think I take it so lightly."

"I am proud of you my dearest man, I am just afraid to lose you."

"My dearest, dearest, one."

Xx

We speed from this scene of reconciliation ( insert narrative wink here), to the next morning where Lady Mary and her father are sharing a rather frosty car ride.

You couldn't tell it to look at her, but Mary is deeply embarrassed and angry. She can feel the rage emanating from her father and, somehow feels quite offended by his attitude.

"I hope you remember to write Charles Blake a note of thanks. He used his position with the government to ensure that this incident won't be permanently recorded, or that your name won't be on a list that appears in the papers."

Mary doesn't respond.

"I hope that this incident will cure you of this particular interest."

Mary remains quiet, but it is a cold quiet. One could almost imagine icicles forming on the seats of the car.

"You can stay quiet if you wish, but I forbid you from attending these events or continuing your engagement with pacifism."

"You cannot forbid me from anything Papa. If anything, it is Matthew who can place such strictures on me, he is my husband. My husband who is away fighting a war, and yet understands my politics."

"Mary, you cannot imagine that your choices are anything but foolish. And, as far as I am concerned, you are quite quite wrong. "

"Am I? Do you think this war will spare our way of life? It has only exposed the wretched ways in which everyone else lives. War is wasteful, it has no purpose, no sense. My politics have pragmatic motives, _I_ live in reality. Do you even listen to Sybil? Do you read the newspapers?"

Now it is the Earl who does not respond. When they arrive at Belgrave Square, he assists Mary to descend from the car, but requests a last word. Very gently, he says to his daughter,

"Do not imagine that the next time you will escape scandal. As the daughter of an Earl you may be allowed some privileges, but, as you say, you are decisively reconfigured now. You are, at least for several years yet, only the wife of a newly minted government administrator. Matthew is only a Captain in the army, his sphere of influence is still limited. I am sorry, my darling daughter, to remind you that your position in society will always be a precarious one."

This stings, but Mary is the consummate aristocrat. She waits through breakfast, a scolding from her aunt, a bath, a change, and waits for Anna to leave her alone before she, like Edith, sinks onto a couch in tears.

Xx

 **October 1917**

Isobel Crawley looks out at the vast expanse of the sea. She shivers as a cold, salty breeze rips through her bones, and draws her cardigan a little tighter. What an adventure she has had! After moving to the Netherlands, the refugee camp she was working in had been raided by a group who accused the Belgians of being pro-German. Her supervisor had decided to accelerate the movement of the group in their charge from the Netherlands to Torquay, England, but, as it was a last minute decision, they could not arrange straightforward transportation. Isobel had endured a ship, a train, a bus and a rather rickety boat before finally setting her feet on solid ground. She felt great empathy for the scared refugees she had accompanied and hoped that they were finally able to rest and relax. What a waste it all was.

"Mrs. Crawley?", it is a young VAD.

"Yes, Nurse Browning?"

"A message for you from your daughter-in-law. She has arranged a first class train ticket for you tomorrow, to take you to London. She will meet you at Victoria Station and accompany you back to Yorkshire."

"Thank you Nurse."

xx

As the clouds of steam clear at Victoria Station, Mary makes out the familiar figure of her mother-in-law.

She goes to kiss her in a perfunctory manner, but finds herself pulling the other woman into an embrace.

"Mary, dear?", asks Isobel.

"I am very glad to have you back."


	37. Chapter 37

**November 1917**

Captain Charles Blake to Nurse Sybil Crawley

 _Dear Sybil,_

 _Thank you for your letter containing some suggested exercises. I am only a little pained that you had to take the time to copy out so many pages. You are, as always, much too good to me._

 _You must know that your mother has kindly invited us to Downton for Christmas. Mother and I are quite looking forward to Christmas in the country. I feel I have overtaxed myself by going back to work a little at a time, and I am in need of some respite._

 _You ask for details of my progress, Nurse. Memories have come back to me, each day, there is something new, some remembrance of a skill, an idea, a friend. It is my work that I have the most command of, which probably indicates that I was a creature of work. Yet, I still struggle to feel that these memories are mine. As I have told you before, they seem like something of a past life. When I walk into a room and see Mother, I have to remind myself that she_ is _my mother. The only life that seems real to me now are the months I spent at Downton._

 _I was sorry to see the frustrations you detailed in your last letter with regards to the violence of the October revolution. Certainly, since July, we have seen that there is a horrific violence at the heart of it all. I realise this is difficult for you, especially when you read, as I do, socialist philosophy that is so idealistic, that envisions a utopic , equitable society. But you must remind yourself that not all revolutions are bathed in blood, and what this is, is an outpouring. Think of a dog who is chained up all day and all night, who kicked and starved, what will he do when he gets the opportunity? This is not to excuse the violence, but to suggest that all parties must be viewed with compassion._

 _I am reminded of your sister Mary, who points out that it is important to be aware of, and address societal issues in order to maintain the status quo of class and privilege. There is something to this, but I would rather we focus ourselves more deeply, to find the cause of the injustice and root it out. You told me that your friend speaks of education. I believe he is correct. That is one of the key elements in addressing the cause so that we do not just treat the symptom._

 _Now you know why Mary calls me Iscariot._

 _Your friend,_

 _Charles Blake._

 _Xx_

November flies by in a rush for Mary. She has taken the advice of her father, and more so, the advice of her mother-in-law, and stayed away from politics. With much harvesting in the autumn, and the estate being amongst those that are assisting with food supply for the nation, Mary has been kept quite busy. Letters from Matthew have been few and far between as he is amongst those troops that are engaged in significant battles, and to keep her from worry over him, she has taken up any extra duties that she can in the house or on the estate.

The re-training scheme has picked up under Isobel's supervision. Some of the young women volunteering for the estate, and also the land army felt that they would benefit from further skills in reading, writing and arithmetic, and so they have managed to lease a schoolroom one day a week from Mr. Dawes. Mr. Bates now trains young men to perform valet service while negotiating a handicap, Mr. Moseley teaches, and Edith and Mary are hard pressed to find another teacher. What they have now set up is the beginnings of a local vocational school. It is yet bare bones, run quite informally and with skeletal staff, but it is a thing of pride for Isobel, Edith and Mary. The two sisters are glad for the success of the scheme, for they can keep their conversation to this and this alone, rather than face, as Mary fears, sniping from Edith around Mary's jail time, or, as Edith worries, scathing remarks from Mary about Anthony being the cause of Mary's unfortunate arrest.

Mary and Anthony have been giving each other a wide berth.

Isobel has also returned to the hospital in a part-time capacity. She is brimming with ideas for other schemes based on what she has seen in her time in Europe, and has found a ready accomplice in the Dowager. I must tell you now that Cousin Violet missed Cousin Isobel, for she had grown to enjoy having someone a little closer to her age to converse with, bully a little, and generally accompany her. Violet is happy to have Isobel remain at Downton, and feels that her own involvement in 'that mad woman's schemes' will allow for a temperate hand to be at the helm.

Xx

Thomas Barrow watched the smoke from his cigarette rise into the air, and was thankful not to inhale the odor of antiseptic. He worked diligently in the hospital, and his own natural ability had allowed him to become something of an administrative assistant to Dr. Clarkson. This included the ability to boss around the orderlies and hospital maintenance staff, and Mr. Barrow found himself to be in his element. He felt a certain gratitude for Lady Mary, who , he felt, understood him very well. She had also arranged for him to be quartered at Crawley House, and Mr. Barrow was already a firm favourite with young Master George. The only person in that household who treated him with suspicion was Mrs. Crawley. _More's the pity_ , thought Barrow, for he was becoming quite genuinely fond of ' Mr. Matthew and his little family.' Because of this fondness, Barrow told Miss O'Brien that he _chose_ to be servant to the Crawleys, and that it was a thing of his own free will.

He crushed his cigarette under his foot and made to go back in. As he did so, he noticed a couple approaching the hospital from the side road. They were engaged in a carefree conversation, and once they came up the walk, Isobel excused herself from Dr. Clarkson and went directly into the outpatient clinic. The good doctor did not follow her immediately, but watched her walk away for some minutes, a peculiar expression his face.

 _Well, well, well,_ thought Barrow, _now if that isn't a Doctor in Love, I'll eat my hat._


	38. Chapter 38

**December 1** **st** **, 1917**

A biting wind whipped at Mary's face as she stepped out of the car at the Dower House. It had been drizzling all day, and she felt the cold, hard icy rain that was to befall them soon. There was a distinct wintery-ness to this particular winter, and Mary sighed to think that there would be no Matthew to warm her as the nights grew darker and colder. His last letter, a scribbled note saying that the fighting had intensified, that he loved her and George and thought of them constantly, had arrived two weeks ago. Since then, there had been silence. Mary refused to allow herself to worry. So long as there was no telegram, Matthew was alive and safe.

She stepped into the warmth of the Dower House. Fires crackled in every room of the house, whether or not it was occupied. While this should have given the house a sense of bustle and life, the emptiness of the rooms made Mary shiver a little. _And Granny still refers to this as her little cottage._

Spratt, moving oleaginous in front of her, announced Mary's presence in the morning sitting room, and left, in an equally oily manner.

"Goodness, what is wrong with Spratt today?", asked Mary seating herself down on the settee.

"He's in some sort of altercation with the cook, and it brings out his obsequious side, just as insurance against my wrath. No matter, I am applying the correct pressures and he will calm down soon. Have some cake."

Mary readily took a slice, and waited for her grandmother to continue. After all, it was the Dowager who had sent the summons.

After observing Mary for a few minutes, the Dowager spoke.

"I am very glad to know that in these last two months you have been behaving sensibly. I hope that all your politics are a thing of the past."

Mary simply looked at her blankly.

"Mary, you mustn't be difficult. You aren't a teenager. And you must stop punishing your Papa for what he said to you. He was entirely in the right."

Mary helped herself to a cup of tea. "Is the scolding over, Granny?"

"For now. I understand your mother has invited the Blake boy and his mother for Christmas. Has she thought it through? There is no shooting because of the war, and the house is crawling with wounded soldiers. Where will she even house them? His friendship with Sybil is at too delicate a stage."

"Charles is very happy to be amongst his fellow officers. I rather think it was Sybil who suggested that they be invited to give him a sense of homecoming for Christmas. As for rooms, Mama held back a guest room from the Army, and they can put Mrs. Blake into my old room. The Strallans and their offspring are staying all through Christmas and the New Year, so _I_ shall be safely ensconced at Crawley House. I think Mama expects you to keep Aunt Rosamund."

"How vexing. I know Rosamund is my daughter, but she's very difficult to live with. We'll be so squished together here."

As she finished speaking, the heavens opened and an icy rain began to fall, a veritable thunderstorm of freezing rain. Mary felt a swift and sudden chill, and dropped her tea into the plush carpet.

"Mary! What on earth has gotten into you?", demanded the Dowager.

"I apologise, Granny. I suddenly felt quite…unwell."

"You ought to be getting back. As it is, I shall have to prepare the staff for Rosamund's arrival. Christmas is such a tedious business."

Xx

 **December 15** **th** **1917**

Isobel was thankful for mittens. She walked the ten minutes between Crawley House and the school, toasty in wool from head to toe, with her very best and most sensible long underwear on for extra heat, and delighted in the snow that had finally replaced the ice and sleet of the last few weeks. The snow touched the village in all the right places, and Isobel thought to herself that it all looked rather like a picture postcard. Isobel is a woman of a very prosaic imagination. She would not provide for us musings on 'azure hues' and 'icy spears.' Matthew did not receive his moony genes from _her._

She stomped into the classroom, dusting some light snow from her coat and looked about her with satisfaction. They had decided to hold a small Christmas gathering for the young men and women in their charge and the room was alight with candles and holly.

"Well done, Edith, dear. I think we will be able to give them a jolly party."

"It didn't take much effort, and Mr. Moseley was the captain of this ship, not I."

"Well done, Mr. Moseley."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Will you have a cup of wassail?"

Wassail is drunk to the good health of all, and mince pies speedily digested. Edith, Anthony and their staff leave first. Mary has not attended due to feeling rather under the weather. Isobel wraps up again and she and Dr. Clarkson make their way back to Crawley House.

Walks to and from the village had become a habit for these two, ever since Isobel's return to the village. Dr. Clarkson would often pick her up on his way to the hospital and then escort her on her way home. They had developed a rather close friendship during this time, even though most of their talk consisted of syringes, sterilization and sutures. Isobel was glad of it. When she left she had felt so out of place and unwanted, but the attentions of Mary and Dr. Clarkson had allowed her to feel a sense of belonging in the village again. Isobel invites Dr. Clarkson in for a warm drink and they are soon enjoying some coffee by the fire.

"I trust Lady Mary will not be disturbed? Has she been taking the tonic I prescribed?"

"Yes, she has. She has been just very tired lately."

"If she doesn't improve soon, I ought to take another look at her."

"If she will allow it."

Dr. Clarkson laughed. "It is a tidy match that they have made, but I am not sure how well they are suited to one another."

"You do not know how stubborn Matthew is. Mary is more than a match for his obstinacy."

"Ah, hard headed. Like two coconuts, you just knock them together."

Now it was Isobel's turn to laugh. "Precisely. Although, I must say that Mary has a good heart, underneath all of that projected ice."

"I always remember her as an intelligent but haughty sort of girl. "

"I don't think that has changed. I remember my late husband and I once discussing what particular traits can stay with a child as they develop into an adult."

"A stimulating conversation, no doubt. There have been many radical advances in analysing the mind, and the trauma that soldiers are going through now will only galvanize such a process."

"It is too sobering to think how much medical study benefits from war time."

He looked at her so peculiarly that Isobel was prompted to query him.

"It is nothing. I often forget that you used to be a doctor's wife, and that such conversations would have been part of your daily life."

"Yes. was a very progressive man, and shared his books, studies and thoughts with me. We could discuss iodine treatment for hours!"

"You must miss him greatly. Have you ever thought of marrying again?"

"One always feels lonely, but I still had my work and Matthew to fill my time. What about yourself?"

"There was someone once, but I was a young medical student and time and chance passed me by."

"How very sad. Why did you not try again?"

"A physician's vocation is to his patients and not to his family. And you forget that I had to be at the beck and call of Granthams."

"Ah. Dr. Crawley and I struggled with that in our early marriage, too."

"How did you get through it?"

"I cannot say. It was what you did, wasn't it? You soldier on, and things resolve themselves. We did love each other a great deal."

A moment of silence, then the doctor said,

"I can certainly see why he would care for you so."

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the wassail, or the strength of the fire, but Isobel felt a certain warmth that had nothing to do with her long underwear.

Xx

 **December 21** **st** **1917**

The Strallans arrived at Downton on a crisp winter afternoon. Mr. Carson, brows twinkling at the young children, shows them in to the library where the rest of the family, including the Blakes, are just sitting to tea. Cora makes a bee line for her grandchildren, and sets them up in a small corner with Nanny and little George. As children are not often taken places with their parents, this was the first time that the cousins were meeting, and George inaugurated the meeting by promptly catching a hold of young Marigold's hair and pulling.

Had the Earl not been afraid of his life, he would have remarked that history was repeating itself. Instead he ordered Nanny to take the children upstairs to the day nursery, and went to sit by his wife who was mediating the exchange between Mrs. Blake and the Dowager. The conversation ran thus:

 _Dowager: Well, Mrs. Blake, I am so pleased to see how well Captain Blake is recovering. How terrible if he had remained an amnesiac for the rest of his days!_

 _Mrs. Blake: He has been well attended, and has such strength of personality._

 _Dowager: Indeed he does. Although one would hope that he does not possess too resolute a disposition. It would not make him a sound prospect for matrimony. The ideal husband must be one who is temperate in all his ways._

 _Mrs. B: One would imagine that it is for the wife to provide the sober influences, so that the husband can fulfil whatever duty his station in life calls him to._

 _Cora: I think it important for both parties to be level-headed._

 _Dowager (as if Cora has not spoken): But for a man to have too much vigour is almost vulgar._

 _Mrs. B: Yet, I am sure you are all too aware of the follies that uncontrolled passion in a woman can lead to. Charles has significant responsibilities in his future, he cannot have a wife who is…sub-par._

 _Dowager: I do not recall a mere baronetcy ever requiring much more than effort than waking up in the morning._

 _Cora: Mama!_

 _Mrs. B: Of course, a baronetcy is not an Earldom, but the estate at Ballygoyne is twice the size of Downton, and has far greater responsibilities to the county. Politically, especially. Of course, here in drowsy Yorkshire, you have no understanding of the political importance of a peer in his county._

 _Dowager: Political upheaval is only the result of mismanagement. Our family has been blessed with sterling capabilities of administration and leadership._

Throughout this exchange, Mary and Edith have kept watching Sybil intently. For the subtext of this inimical _pas-de-deux_ between the Dowager and Mrs. Blake centres on the match that everyone feels is imminent. Edith notes with alarm that Sybil's expression is one of absolute revulsion. She looks ready to burst through the window. Edith flicks her eyes to Mary, who nods and says,

"Charles, Sybil, won't you come with me to the music room? I want to show you what we have prepared as entertainment for the servicemen's Christmas gathering."

The three of them leave, and the ensuing gap in the conversation allows Isobel to engage Mrs. Blake in a discussion about memory treatments, and for Edith to seek her grandmother's advice over the reconstruction of the ornamental garden at Locksley. You see, when you belong to these aristocratic circles, you must either become an adept strategist, or die trying. The hills and dales of Britain are scattered with the corpses of young men and women who could not or would not learn, the Art of Manoeuvre. In the face of women like the Dowager, Sun Tzu is a mere schoolboy doodling with crayons.

Xx

While Sybil and Charles are going over a piece of music, Mary excuses herself on the pretext that she needs to speak with Mrs. Hughes. As she enters the hall, she finds Anthony waiting for her.

"Sister Mary, I wondered if we might speak."

"Anthony, I will ask you this once and then never again. I find it too odious to be called Sister Mary."

"Very well. I do apologise. But may we speak?"

"If you must."

"I feel that I have not had the opportunity to express my grief over your recent incarceration."

"It was hardly an incarceration. More of an inconvenience. I do not wish to discuss it any further."

"I hope it does not mean that you will be discouraged from participating in any future events."

"In all honesty, I have decided to heed my father's advice and take a temporary hiatus. I have not had a chance to speak with Matthew about the ..incident, and it would not be fair to him for me to take a decision without his consul."

"An admirable response, Mary, admirable. May I just say that I do hope you come back to it, and that I highly commend the risk that you took in the first place."

"Ah. I feel that I have taken all the risks I wish for a life time."

Anthony nods his head and returns to the library, while Mary goes to wait just outside the music room. It would not do for anyone to notice that Sybil and Charles were unchaperoned.

As Anthony re-enters the library, a rousing shout of _hurrah_ disturbs the peace, for, on the other side of the screen, some servicemen are engaged in a spirited game of table tennis.

The Dowager shivers and says to Anthony, as he sits down by his wife, "It's like living in a second- rate hotel. I rather wonder why I ever championed Isobel in this scheme!"

"Come now, Granny, we should be proud for sacrificing our comforts for the men who have served our country. Mama and Papa are to be commended."

"The Granthams have never shirked from duty.," said the Dowager dryly, "on the subject of which, my dear, I hope you are taking good care of yourself. You mustn't get overexcited with all the festivities."

"Whatever do you mean, Granny?", asked Edith nervously.

The Dowager raises an eyebrow. "How far along are you?"

"About three months. Oh Granny how did you guess?"

"Neither you no your husband are particularly subtle people, my dear. I am pleased for you, of course, but my,my, Sir Anthony, you do step up to the plate with alarming regularity, don't you?"

And with this, the Dowager leaves them to consult Robert on some matter.

Xx

Charles is very aware that he has been left alone with Sybil. She is also equally aware and keeps moving around the room pointing out different objects to him in an effort to distract herself. He finally catches her by the window and places her hands in his.

"Charles, I am not sure this is wise."

"Let me do it, Sybil. You know how much I have come to care for you. You are so brilliant and beautiful, a woman of true substance."

"Thank you Charles. You know that I highly esteem you as well."

"Can it be more than that? Will you be my wife?"

Sybil takes her hands from his and goes to sit by the window. He joins her.

"I would be dishonest if I did not say that you were in my heart. I think we would be happy in our marriage, and yet, if I were to choose you, I would choose a life I no longer wish to lead. My time as a nurse has shown me that there is no going back to 'Lady Sybil'. Not for me, at least."

"Do you suppose that I will be a typical peer?"

"Certainly not. Neither will Matthew, but he will be a peer, eventually. Mary calls their life now their 'little idyll', but they both know where their duty lies. As do you. There is no mechanism for you to not be a Baronet."

"There is honour in duty, and much change that can be affected through a peerage. You would be the ideal companion to help me do that."

"Charles, it is very tempting, but it is not the life I want. And you must know that there is also someone else in my heart. He can give me a simpler life."

"I will not press you, I only thank you for your frankness."

She kisses him impulsively, and it is a sweet, long, kiss.

" Do not forget that you did touch my heart, Charles.", she whispers.

"A memory to keep me warm through the lonely nights! Don't look like that, I am only being facetious. I thank you again. I am not likely to marry anyone else very soon, so perhaps you will let me know if you have a change of heart? May I be allowed to hope?"

She only squeezes his hand in reply. "I must go back to Mama."

Sybil leaves him and goes out to find Mary. Her elder sister observes her keenly. "You have refused him?"

"I have refused him."

"Very well. It shall be the chauffeur, I suppose."

"It might. Oh, can we not tell anyone what has happened?"

"I think that that would be the most advisable course of action. Let me go to Charles, go rescue Papa from Granny."

Xx

Christmas is a riotous affair, for the soldiers are in good spirits, as are the downstairs staff and the merriment affects the family. Mrs. Blake notices a certain change in her son, but is cheered to see the _joie de vivre_ in his face from being around his fellow army men, and Charles is glad to be distracted from his recent disappointment. After a good humoured evening of playing 'The Game', Isobel and Mary are driven back to Crawley House. Little George sleeps soundly in Nanny's lap.

They retire to bed almost immediately. Mary settles in with a book, and Isobel, thinking a little of Dr. Clarkson, peruses a medical journal. They hear a knock at the door, followed by Barrow's footsteps as he goes to answer it.

Mary waits on tenterhooks. A knock on her bedroom door brings Anna in to the room. "Sergeant Barrow would like a word, milady."

"Of course, is Mrs. Crawley awake?"

"Yes."

Mary and Isobel open their doors with trepidation, to where Barrow waits for them. He holds out his hand and says words that belong to Mary's nightmares.

"A telegram from the war office, milady."


	39. Chapter 39

**Thank you for reviews. Not sure why you all aren't getting alerts but I've emailed support. I hated the handbrake turns that Matthew was forced into re his injury. Always felt that it was done 'because plot' and that JF should have not given him such a diagnosis without also being equally brave enough to really deal with a major character having a disability. I used research from the British Library archives to find WW1 injuries I could use.**

 **Anyway, on with the thing.**

The Earl and Countess of Grantham are roused to the spectre of Miss O' Brien. For a moment, Robert thinks that one of his more Gothic nightmares is coming true. He slips into a more rational consciousness, and thinks to himself that the reality of O'Brien is really no better.

"Your Lordship, it is Lady Mary on the telephone."

Robert flees downstairs, and Cora waits for him, clutching the bedcovers as if her life depended on it. A few minutes later, Robert returned and sat slowly down on the bed.

"Is Matthew dead?" Cora is an American, she shoots from the hip.

"Matthew has been severely wounded and is on his way back to England. Mary called to inform me and to ask me if I can find out any more information."

"Oh my dear. How is Mary?"

"She seems calm. She spoke very determinedly. I will have to call headquarters as soon as I possibly can tomorrow."

"Do you suppose I should go to her?"

"Perhaps. There was something odd."

"What was it ,darling?"

"She insisted that I find out what had happened to the batman. I assume his family has been informed, but Mary would not let me go until I promised. "

"Matthew regards his batman very highly. And so should we, he used to be our chauffeur."

"Yes the Irish revolutionary. A good point. Carson will want to know as well. He's very proper about sending notes of sympathy to the family."

Xx

When Robert goes down in the morning, he is surprised to find his eldest daughter awaiting him. She looks very pale, but very calm.

"I'm sorry for the melodramatics, Papa, but I couldn't wait another minute. "

"I understand, my dear. We should be able to find someone to speak to. Come with me."

As they cross the hall, Sybil comes down. She narrows her eyes to see Mary there so early. Mary goes to her very quickly.

"Matthew has been wounded. He is being sent home. Papa is going to find out more details about Matthew, _and his batman."_

Sybil immediately understands. "Let me come with you." The sisters hold hands as they go, giving each other some strength in solidarity. The strength is needed, for it takes Robert something of half of an hour on the phone to garner the necessary details.

"The good news is that it is not all bad news. Both Matthew and Branson were caught up in a battle action and fell foul of a blast. I do not know the extent and specificity of their injuries, but they were patched up as best as possible in France. They were put on a boat yesterday. Matthew should be at Downton before the end of the week. I understand he has to be transported very carefully."

"And Corporal Branson?", asks Mary, because she can see that Sybil cannot.

"He will be sent to the general hospital in Leeds. He has a brother, I think, who has been informed. Branson will be well cared for."

"Why can he not be sent to Downton with Matthew?", breathes Sybil.

"The hospital here is mainly for officers, and Matthew enjoys privileges. Leeds General is a perfectly adequate facility and it caters to servicemen and their families."

"Thank you Papa. I must go to Isobel and inform her. Sybil won't you walk with me?"

As soon as Robert is out of earshot, Sybil turns to Mary.

"I shall have to go to him, Mary, how can I not?"

"Don't be stupid, Sybil. How will you manage? What reason on heaven or earth can you give that will satisfy Mama and Papa, and Granny?"

"I still feel that I should be there for him."

"His brother will be with him, and I think I can send someone. I will ask Barrow to use his day off to go to Leeds and ensure that Corporal Branson is being taken care of properly, ensure that they are aware of his connections to the family. Barrow will be able to provide us with a full report. It will be perfectly correct for Matthew and I to send our servant to inquire after his batman."

"Then perhaps I could try to find a way to go as well?"

"Yes Sybil, but it will be unwise and improper for you to just go careering off."

Xx

The Dowager is very vexed. She grinds her cane into her sitting room floor. Rosamund looks up from some very delicate and entirely useless piece of embroidery.

"What is it Mama?"

"If I were a young man, eager to secure the hand of a young lady, I would use the merriment and joy of Christmas day to make my case. Why has Charles Blake not spoken out?"

"Perhaps he is waiting for the New Year."

"He does not seem an inefficient sort of person. I would wager that he has indeed spoken out."

"In that case, they are keeping the engagement secret. They must think it romantic."

"Don't be absurd, Rosamund. Do you suppose it is possible that Sybil has refused him?"

"Why would she? They seemed to get on very well."

"It is possible,", said the Dowager thinking back on certain things she had observed, " that Sybil is engaged in a less than salubrious friendship."

"We would have been aware of it by now."

"Why would we? War breaks down barriers, and Sybil may find herself on the wrong side of things once the dust has settled. Young women are easily led astray. You will remember."

"Marmaduke was a gentleman."

The Dowager snorted. "The Painswicks were no threat to the Plantagenets."

We are saved the rest of the scene, for Anthony arrives to give the ladies the news of Matthew, and to offer them a ride to the Abbey. Edith had sent her husband, as she was aware that Granny would hate not to be in the thick of the news. The Dowager leaves the house with great alacrity. Edith was quite correct.

Xx

The afternoon finds Charles, Isobel, Mary, and Dr. Clarkson sitting round some tea at Crawley House. Mary feels quite empty. Once more, all she can do is wait until Matthew arrives. Everything is so very helpless. She had thought to go to Southampton to meet the ship he sailed on, but Dr. Clarkson noted that she would not have been allowed to travel with Matthew.

"You must allow me to help you with anything I can, Mary.", says Charles.

"Thank you, I do not even know what his injuries even are."

Dr. Clarkson, on knowing that Matthew is being transported with great care, has already thought of a few possible diagnosis. "You musn't worry yourself. I suggest that you get some rest, Lady Mary. You have had no sleep and you will need your strength. I make the same prescription for you, Mrs. Crawley."

Mary assents that she is very tired. Isobel shakes her head and says that she needs a walk.

"Will you walk with me, Dr. Clarkson?"

"I would be happy to."

After they leave, Charles lingers for a few minutes.

"I know that you wish to rest, Mary, but I only wanted to say that I hold no ill will against you for Sybil's decision."

"I did not imagine that there was ill will to be had. I _am_ sorry that you will not be my brother."

"Well, I do have that, and Sybil's high regard to see me through. But, tell me, do you think I have no hope at all? I must confess that our interview ended on a more confusing that definite note."

"I do not think Sybil's mind is dwelling too much on your proposal, frankly."

Charles pauses and looks at Mary with intensity. "Who is the other man in her heart?"

"She has told you of that. His identity is still Sybil's secret to tell, Charles. If you love her, you must wait, or let her go."

Speaking of a man who is indeed, waiting, we must speed up the road from Crawley House a little to the doctor and Isobel. Dr. Clarkson wishes he could be of greater, more intimate comfort to her, but is happy to walk by her side. They proceed silently to the church, and he follows Isobel to a pew at the back. There, she lays her head on the smooth, cool surface of the wood in front of her and closes her eyes. Clarkson wonders what she prays for. _He_ cannot know, but dear readers, the God of Thought and Narrative Emotion is an open book, and so we can know that Isobel's prayer is one of thanksgiving, that her son is alive, and that he has not died alone on a battlefield.

Xx

A week later, Mary and Isobel stand with hands clasped together as a medical truck unloads wounded soldiers by the hospital gates. After what seems like an eternity, they see a tousled blond head appear. He lies unconscious, limp, and looks small. They follow his stretcher into the hospital, where two orderlies work carefully to place Matthew on his hospital cot.

Dr. Clarkson looks at the tag on his patient, and slowly removes it.

Mary sees the action and turns to the doctor. "What does it say?"

"Will you permit me to do a full examination before I confirm it? We will have to do some cleaning up of his wounds, in any case. The most important thing now is to change his clothes, wash him, and disinfect his wounds." He points to the nurse who is waiting to do these chores.

Mary snorts and grabs the basin and cloths from the nurse. " _I_ will do that. Isobel, show me how."

And, working together, the two women Matthew loves most in the world bathe and clean his wounds. It is a more cathartic act than crying, and Dr. Clarkson, watching them, notes wonderful it is to have grief that can be shared.

Xx

If only he knew that in a small corner of the nurse's room, one of his nurses had to cry silently, for her grief cannot be shared. Not knowing what has happened to Tom, if he will survive his injuries, and having no one to talk to Sybil has been venting her grief in a pile of aprons. How lonely is the love that cannot be spoken! I have told you that Anthony and Edith have a gentle love, that William and Daisy share sweet love, and we know that Mary and Matthew 's passion is an incandescent one. But, let me tell you friends, the love that exists between Sybil and Tom, once it is ignited, would burn up the sky.

Xx

Barrow pauses at the door to Leeds General, and checks for the two items in his pocket. Satisfied, he goes in and requests to see the hospital administrator, announcing himself as having a message from the Earl of Grantham.

After an hour's wait, Dr. Beddoes appears and looks with some scorn at the thin Sergeant awaiting him.

"What it is, Sergeant, why do you disturb me?"

"I am here to inquire after a patient in your care, a corporal Branson. He would have arrived two days ago. I am here to carry news of his condition to his employers."

"We do not disclose information about a patient. His employer may write to us directly. How can I be sure you aren't using the names of the high and mighty for your own amusement?"

Barrow looks at him like a cat who has met a rather stupid mouse. He was hoping that the man would be belligerent. He smoothly extracts two letters from his breast pocket and gleefully hands them over to Dr. Beddoes.

"As you can see from these letters, Corporal Branson is the batman to the Viscount Grantham and it is his wife, Lady Mary, who is also the daughter of the Earl of Grantham who requests the information. The second letter is from the Earl himself, naming me as the family's representative. I am sure you are aware, Dr. Beddoes, that the Grantham's are in a position to provide a hospital with…ample donations, and, indeed, influence the hands of those who already provide such assistance to you. I will also remind you that the Earl is the Lord Lieutenant of the county."

Beddoes grunts. "You're a fine fish, aren't you. Come with me."

Barrow follows him down a ward that seems overstuffed with beds and wounded. Sleeping by a window is Corporal Branson. Bandages cover half of his face, and around his stomach. He twitches in his sleep and emits moans of pain.

"What is wrong with him?"

"He came to us with a stomach full of shrapnel. They'd cleaned him up and operated as best as they could at the CCS, but we had to operate as soon as he came here. He's running a fever and is at risk for infection."

"Will he recover?"

"We are doing our best, and there is every chance that he will pull through. The fever is the least of his problems though. There was some shrapnel that hit the left side of his face. Some of it entered his eye. We extracted everything we could, but, it was too late. He has lost the sight in that eye."

Barrow truly feels sorry for Tom. He turns to Dr. Beddoes. "I trust that you will ensure that he is given the best care possible. His Lordship and Lady Mary will be following the case very closely."

After the hospital, Barrow makes his way to a busy street in Leeds and seeks out a mechanic at a repair shop. The man looks only passingly like Tom, but has the same air of defiance. Barrow smiles, introduces himself and suggests an after work drink at the pub.

Over pints of a deep, red ale, Barrow provides Kieran Branson with some money sent by Mary, and a note of support from Mr. Carson.

"It's very good of them to take such trouble.", nods Kieran.

"Corporal Branson has provided service to the family. They are very proper about repaying that sort of thing."

"But they couldn't come themselves?"

"That would be beyond a line they are willing to go. Lady Mary is curious about where he will go when he is discharged."

"I have a second room. It's quite small, but Tom will be comfortable there. I 've written to our mum, to tell her. I expect Tom will want to go back to Ireland when it's all over."

"Have you managed to speak with him?"

"He has been delirious since he came. It's a damn waste."

Barrow leaves Kieran in a reflective mood and makes his way back to his lodgings. He accepts the simple meal provided, and procures for himself another pint. At the bench nearest to him, sits another soldier, a Private, with all the look of someone about to go back to the fighting. They exchange nods, and then a smile. Barrow knows that smile. It is the smile that he searches for.

Without exchanging a word, they carefully go up together to his room and make love with the intensity of two men who have faced too much of death.

Xx

Matthew's diagnosis is not finally pronounced upon until four days after his arrival. Dr. Clarkson relayed his initial findings to Robert- because patriarchy- and the Earl requested that Sir John Coates examine Matthew before diagnosis was confirmed.

Matthew has been awake, but disoriented from the medicines, the pain and intense fatigue. He recognised Mary only once, but thought she was a dream. He had smiled goofily at her, making her laugh, and then patted her hand and said "Time to head out, Branson."

Dr. Clarkson delivers his diagnosis to a room that contains Isobel, Robert, Mary and the Dowager. Because, Dowager.

"I have both good news and bad news. Captain Crawley endured a blast that sent him flying backwards into what I imagine is a ditch. There were superficial wounds caused by flying shrapnel, which we have treated for infection. More serious is a deep and penetrating bruise on his spine. I had worried that this meant that the spine had been transected, but after examination by myself and Sir Coates, we have concluded that this is not so. However, he does carry a serious mark from the bruise that will not leave his body. The bruise will heal, but until it does, he will have little feeling and ability in his legs and will be bound to a wheelchair for some time."

"But it is temporary?", asks the Dowager.

"Yes, but this is where I have bad news. The fall, and resulting wounds, not to mention the lengthy time of transportation, have caused some nerve damage to his right leg. While Captain Crawley will walk again, he will always have to rely on a cane. He will require physical therapy for his whole life. "

Isobel nods and looks determined. "Then he is lucky that his mother is a nurse."

The Dowager wonders what Matthew did to deserve _that._

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson. Perhaps we can arrange some time later to discuss the proper treatments? You must excuse me now, I should go back to Matthew.", and Mary ends the conversation.

The family stands up to leave, Mary happens to be by her father during this exit. She holds his arm.

"I warn you now Papa, that my politics are certainly returning. And nothing you can say will deter me otherwise." She hisses this at him and walks away, her head held high and magnificent.

Xx

Tom leans back against his hospital bed with a sigh. It has been two weeks since he returned, and, now declared free of fever and infection, he is awaiting discharge. He is bored, and bitter, and feels a sense of hopelessness. He had attempted to read some of the letters that Kieran had brought him, but focussing with just the one eye had only prompted a headache. He felt a great sense of resentment against his eyepatch.

A soft voice near his left side says, "The eye patch makes you look quite rakish."

He shifts his body so that he can see her. Sybil smiles down at him and says, "Oh Tom, it is so good to see you alive and well. I have been so worried."

"So you came."

"Of course I came. I'm sorry I could not come earlier."

"I'm sorry you felt that you had to."

"What is this?"

He does not look at her.

"I hope you have not come here specially, Nurse Crawley."

" _Nurse Crawley?_ What is the matter with you ?"

He looks at her, and tears flow from his eye.

"I had a dream, of a life for us. Maybe you shared that dream. But look at me now, I can't even be a chauffeur. I don't know what profession I can have, how will I make a life for us? Captain Crawley said to me once that the journey you have to make will be a long one, and now it is longer. I release you, Sybil."

She speaks in tones that would have made Mary proud.

"There was no understanding between us, you cannot release me from anything."

"Then I tell you to think of another future."

"Because you cannot provide for us? I'm a trained nurse, I can provide too! And you will find something, Mary and Matthew will help. Edith and Mary even have a scheme to help wounded soldiers re-train."

"I won't accept charity."'

"It isn't charity, and you are being foolish."

"You have no understanding of a man's pride."

"There is pride, but what you are exhibiting is inanity. You know I don't care a fig about wealth or status."

"I care about the kind of life I can give you. It was always going to be a simple one, but now it may be destitute."

"You were a man who once spoke so eloquently of hope."

"Then the war has broken me, as it has broken my body."

"Others have suffered worse than you have. You have arms and legs enough. Matthew is currently in a wheelchair. It has not broken him and Mary."

"Matthew is a wealthy man in a wheelchair. I have nothing to offer you. That is how the system is and always will be. After the war ends, the poor will still be poor, but some of us will also be half-men."

"I cannot have this argument. I came all this way to see you."

"Then I am sorry that is was a wasted journey. You must forget me Sybil."

With great anger, she turns and walks away from him. She is angry and confused. The meeting had not gone at all like she had imagined it. For Sybil had come to tell him, for the first time, that she was, indeed, deeply in love with him, and that she was ready to make her life with him.


	40. Chapter 40

**Glad the alerts are working. Huzzah. And away we go.**

 **Letter from Mr. Carson to Corporal Branson**

January 20th 1918

 _Dear Corporal Branson,_

 _Lady Mary has kindly informed me of how you are progressing. I was sorry to hear that you have made a decision to return to Galway. Mrs Hughes joins me in wishing you the very best for this new chapter in your life. Please find in this envelope a sum equivalent to two months wages. Lady Mary and his Lordship are very insistent that you be provided with this as a thank you for your loyal service to the household. I am in agreement that such is right and proper._

 _You have done great service for your country young man. Be assured of a warm welcome at Downton should you ever be in the neighbourhood._

 _Sincerely,_

 _C. Carson._

 **Letter from Nurse Sybil Crawley to Corporal Branson**

January 21 1918

 _My darling Tom,_

 _I have found out through Mary that you will be going back to Ireland. I had hoped that you would have changed your mind. I will keep this hope alive, for I love you greatly. I am sorry that I could not come away to see you again, but as you can imagine, the process is an intricate one._

 _I fear that perhaps you still feel unworthy and low in spirits because of your injury. I pray that time and health will disabuse you of these notions. Until then I remain,_

 _Your Sybil._

 _Xx_

Mary and Edith are going over the accounts for their training school over tea at Crawley House.

"I think we may have to expand the budget for the lunches. We are feeding thirty people a week. It's terribly difficult on these rations.", moaned Edith.

"Mama says we may take some extra from the house supplies, but there's really not much to spare.", responded Mary, rubbing her eyes.

They continue working silently for a while.

"Mary…. Is there something the matter with Sybil?"

"Why do you ask?

"She has been exceptionally quiet whenever we meet. She's asked me if she could spend her day off at Locksley, something she has never asked for before."

"Sybil has been very affected by her time with the Red Cross. Perhaps Matthew's injury brought it all back to her. And there isn't anything wrong with her wishing to spend time with your children, is there?"

"No, I suppose not. It's just that Granny asked me the oddest question."

"Granny always asks odd questions."

"She wonders if Sybil has a special friend. She thinks that Sybil may have had some secret assignation two weeks ago, because she won't own up to what she did on her day off."

"Granny should know that a woman is allowed some secrets."

"Do you know Sybil's secret?"

"Only you would suppose that I would betray another person's secret."

"Only _you_ would suppose that I would expect such a betrayal."

The sisters stare at each other coolly.

"Did Charles Blake propose? Anthony seemed confident that he would."

"If you did not hear of Blake proposing, then it is likely that he did not."

"There will come a day when we shall need each other as sisters.", says Edith waspishly.

"And that day is a long way off, thank heaven. Now, I must away, it is time for me to fetch Matthew from the hospital."

Xx

 _Trundle, trundle, squeak._ Each movement of the wheelchair on the drive grinds at Matthew's bones. The car ride had been uncomfortable, and the indignity of having Barrow lift him like a child and place him in the chair had not much helped either. Thankfully it was Mary who pushed him the few steps from the car to the front of the house. But then, again, it required both Mary and Barrow to lift the chair and get Matthew settled in the drawing room.

"Thank you, Barrow. Would you ask Mrs. Bird to send up some tea, please?"

Barrow exits with a quick nod, and Mary goes to sit by her husband.

"You look very grumpy, husband of mine."

"I have endured an hour of physical therapy."

"Suffering is one of the three pillars of learning.", said his wife with a sly grin.

"You enjoy my pain too much, Mrs. Crawley."

"One _is_ starved for amusement in the backwoods of Yorkshire."

Matthew laughs but it triggers another bout of pain. He rests back a little and then says to his wife,

"I must write to Tom. Poor man. Did you write to tell him that there is always a space for him in our household?"

"Before I could, I got a letter from his brother to say that Tom was booking a ticket for Ireland."

"Still, I must reach out to him. Surely he wishes to be here with..?"

"I do not know all the details, but I think that things are not as they should be between them. Frankly, darling, I am relieved. Perhaps Sybil will see sense and marry Charles after all. "

"Mary, you're a snob. Tom has been my liege man."

"I'm not a snob, I'm practical. How many opportunities are open to a man with one eye?"

"A very many. If that is how you feel, why aren't you leaving me?"

"People like us don't get divorced. Besides, there's a child to consider." She raises her eyebrows with vivid expression.

He grasped her hand to him. "You are very lucky that I know how deep your love for me is. Any other man would have been incredibly crushed by a speech like that."

"And that is why I married you and not any other man."

"With all seriousness, my darling, can you bear to be tied to this old cripple for the rest of your life?"

"You shall be out of the wheelchair soon, and a man with a cane is hardly a cripple. And, at the end of the day, you're the only way I get to be Countess of Grantham." She quirks an eyebrow teasingly.

He sighs and looks up as the tea comes in.

"Barrow, now that I have lost Corporal Branson, I shall need you to stick by me. We shall have to be on the same side to win the war against Lady Mary."

"Indeed, sir."

And Mary glares at her husband with that universal look of pique that all wives are able, at any time, to aim at their husbands.

Xx

Sybil spends a boisterous day at Locksley House, playing with her dynamo of a nephew, chasing him all around the gardens. The two come in for tea with hair in wild disarray, cheeks ruddy and laughter in their eyes. Edith is glad to see Sybil looking less melancholy. The same, however, could not be said of Anthony. The heavy bombings in mid-England and London just a few days ago had left him feeling very despondent. He kept thinking of all the young and innocent lives that were being lost. Robert, unaware of his father's musing, climbs onto that gentleman's lap and places a very jammy fist on his cheek. The little rogue laughs, "Papa! Jam!"

"Jam indeed. Such terrible manners, have you my boy. What shall it be Mama, broth for his supper?", laughs Anthony wiggling his eyebrows at his son.

"No broth, just bread. With no butter!", says Mama eliciting a squeal from the heir to Locksley.

Sybil laughs at the little drama and cuddles little Marigold. "Your children are so lovely. They make me forget myself. Do you plan to have many?"

"We would like a large family. I'm not sure Granny approves."

"You know Granny. Everything succumbs to duty. She told me that she only had Aunt Rosamund after Papa because it made sense to have a spare, and that she had the most frightful shock when she found out that she'd had a girl. "

"Classic Granny. "

After tea, Edith asks her sister to join her for a turn around the conservatory. Sybil is delighted at the lushness of it all, an Eden against the cool weather outside.

"This is our favourite place to be in the afternoon.", says Edith, motioning her sister to a cunning little white bench placed between two ferns.

"You have a wonderful life, Edith. A sweet husband and adorable children."

"Yes, I am very happy. Your time will come."

"Oh I am not sighing for my time!"

"But you do not intend on pursuing nursing forever, are you? You do want to be married."

"I do intend to take up nursing as a profession. I want a profession. But yes, I want to be married, also."

"And is there no one you have in mind? Charles Blake is a wonderful man."

"Yes he is. "

"Why do you not marry Charles, Sybil?"

"How very direct of you! Mama has tried to ask me that question in about thirty different ways."

"Will you tell me? I have guessed you have a secret, but Mary will not tell me."

"Mary has been my dragon! Can I swear you to the same secrecy?"

"Of course my dear. "

And so Sybil, needing a kindly ear, tells Edith of everything, of her friendship with Branson, of its evolution into love, of her confusing feelings for Charles, of the distressing conversation that she had with Tom in Leeds, and of her heartbreak that he is leaving England.

"But Edith, you must not think badly of Tom."

"I do not think badly of him. In fact, I admire him for acting in so honourable a fashion."

"What do you mean?"

"Sybil, my darling, you cannot marry the man who was Papa's chauffeur and Matthew's servant. It's preposterous. And Mary and I would lose you. Papa will forbid us from seeing you. You do know that?"

"Edith, you cannot expect me to give him up. I cannot and will not forget him. When he was wounded, I knew immediately that my life _must_ be with his."

"Darling, you sound like Juliet ten minutes after the balcony scene. And she was a teenager. Marriage requires more than ardent passion. It needs love, but it also takes work. If you marry him you begin with difficulty."

"I am not afraid, my mind is definite. I will not give him up."

"Even so, my dear, you must try to do so. It will be best all round if you do give him up."


	41. Chapter 41

**Thanks so much for reviews. Also, always thought Robert was the elder of the Granthams.**

 **Hey ho.**

Six months go by. In these six months, the fighting escalates and each side gains and loses ground. The number of wounded, dead and displaced increases with alarming frequency. Some feel as if an Allied victory is upon Europe. The Gods of War are actually hamsters and wars end when these Gods stop spinning their wheels. Therefore, the result is entirely arbitrary really. But what can be expected when war is just a bloody stupid thing. The God of Logic won't go near it. To tell you the truth, my friends, the God of Logic hasn't been seen for decades. He created accountants and bureaucrats one day, as a cost -saving measure and was so scandalized by what he unleashed on the world that he locked himself up with a lifetime's supply of vodka. This is why the world operates with little to no logic. It's mostly run by hamsters with bureaucrats and accountants running amok. But I, your flawed narrator, digress.

June begins in a clap of thunder. The thunder precedes a furious rain, the kind of rain that only heat can bring. In that same clap of thunder, Lady Edith Strallan grunts and pushes, bringing forth a girl child who looks so like her mother that her irrepressible Aunt Mary will forever refer to Lillian Violet Strallan as "the plain one."

Edith has had a long and painful labour and wonders if Lili ( _Sounds just like a chorus girl, thinks the Dowager when she hears the nickname)_ will be her last child. Through a sheen of sweat and tears, she looks gratefully at her sister who has helped with the delivery.

"Bless you Sybil darling. I don't think I would have managed to soldier on without you."

"You're a champion, even the Doctor said so. Let me go get Anthony. When we hit hour ten, he was ready to yank the baby out of you personally."

Sybil patted her sister's hand and ran down to the conservatory where Anthony and Cora were waiting.

"A girl Anthony, congratulations! You can go up."

Sybil seats herself in the seat that Anthony vacates and smiles at her Mama. "I like when I can bring life into the world. Yesterday, a twenty year old soldier died on the operating table. He was too weak to endure the surgery. I had to write to his mother. I felt like a real beast."

"I admire the brave work you do my darling, but you can see it is good to take a rest.", says Cora smoothing back a curl that has flopped onto the middle of Sybil's forehead.

"Yes, when the war ends perhaps I will do a little travelling before I start my specialized training."

"What do you mean darling?", asks Cora with concern, "Do you intend to keep at the nursing?"

"I haven't made any secret of that have I, Mama? Dr. Clarkson thinks I have great aptitude for surgical nursing."

"And would you work at Downton?", asks Cora, mentally reminding herself to speak to Clarkson about giving her daughter ideas.

"I would want to go wherever the need is greatest."

"What about a family, Sybil? I can't see a husband readily agreeing to such a thing, to say nothing of Papa's reaction."

"Mama, I shan't marry someone who would try to stop me from pursuing a profession. You know Mama, not everyone marries. I think I would be very content to be alone."

Cora looks closely at her daughter and, with, more motherly intuition that the Dowager would believe, decides not to probe the melancholy that underlines that particular statement.

"Will you support me with Papa ?"

"If that is what you really want, darling, although it is not what I want for you. My heart won't be in my support."

"Mary, Matthew, Anthony and Edith support me in the nursing, you know."

"Yes. I can see that many things are being kept secret from your Papa and Mama. There are conspiracies within conspiracies."

"I hope you know that it is not with any malicious purpose."

Cora kissed her child on the forehead.

"Very well my dear but I want a promise. I think that Charles proposed and you refused him. Am I correct?"

Sybil exhales slowly. "Yes Mama."

"Why?"

 _Because I am hoping that a stubborn Irishman will change his mind._ "Because I want a different life." ( Which, in essence, is true.)

Cora looks at Sybil and says very gently, "I think that you may have an easier way with Papa, and my mind will also rest easier if you were moving closer to a husband. Charles is not a bad man and he won't stop your dreams. In fact, Granny thinks he may undo the aristocracy. I think he is your ideal mate."

"Are you telling me to marry him Mama?"

"I'm _asking_ you to give him another chance. Can you do that?"

Tom has not responded to her letters in six months.

Holding back tears, Sybil says, "I will think about it."

"Good. And don't forget, if you marry, you can vote, and really make a difference."

Xx

The last six months have placed Mary and Matthew on a very steep learning curve. Matthew begins each day with an hour of physical therapy, conducted by Barrow and overseen by Isobel. In the last month or so he has managed a few steps with Barrow's arm for support. It is exhausting, and Mary and Matthew are learning the true meaning of the words "Recovery is a process."

Mary has watched and guided the process with great care. Matthew is a proud man and having to be dressed, washed and fussed over has brought him to the very edge of his temper. He is often morose, but she sees that tries his best to be at ease. So Mary has assumed a role of lightness and amusement. It is not so much his waking hours that trouble her, but those hours in which he sleeps. He often wakes, covered in sweat and shivering in fear. She asked him, once, about his night time terrors and he politely, but firmly, asked her never to bring it up again.

The time has also been rough on their intimate relations. Until his injury heals, Matthew will not be 'stepping up to the plate', and that was to be expected. And yet, Mary could also see that he had some sense of distaste for his weakened body. And so, Lady Mary Crawley was learning the fine art of patience. This is not to say that she was not restless. She ached for her husband. But Isobel had counselled her to patience, counselled her to be his cheerleader. This was a good thing, for in Matthew darkest moments, a wall of happiness rose within him whenever he thought of his wife and child.

George, his father's doppelganger, is his mother's son. He has the same quickness of wit, that same inability to suffer fools. He commands Beth and Nanny with imperium, and the only person who can make him feel truly accountable is his Mama. The only person who can appeal to his better nature is his Papa, and so, the hour after breakfast every morning is a time that the two Crawley men share with each other. During this time, as they are both set on being very amiably occupied, the hour passes by happily and often with more mirth than Mary thinks is appropriate.

It is during one of these happy mornings that Isobel comes in to see her beloved son and grandson, both intent on deconstructing a jigsaw puzzle Mary had assembled the night before.

"Gramma! Break puzzle!" commands George.

"Most certainly not. Your Papa is wrong to encourage you."

"Good morning, Mother, what brings you to our little world?"

"Something a little delicate."

"Very well. I shall put away the imp. Georgie my boy, can you play with Mr. Giraffe for a moment?"

George picks up the giraffe but in a rather petulant manner.

"Good man. Well, mother, I am all yours."

Isobel is not one for beating around the bush. Being, as the Dowager puts it "still desperately middle class", she knows that time is money ( as well as all other time-related clichés.)

"Dr. Clarkson asked me to marry his last night."

Matthew looks surprised. "And what was your response?"

"I said I needed some time to contemplate his offer."

"Do you wish to accept him? You don't need my blessing, Mother."

Isobel looks at him sternly. "I am aware of that. However, while I would like to accept Dr. Clarkson, I wonder if you would mind my being a little distracted when you are still recovering."

"It would make me very upset if you were to place your life on hold for my sake." Matthew's lips become thin with anger.

"I would also wish for him to move into Crawley House. He's living in rented rooms. We'd be a little cramped until you went back to London."

"I do not mind at all. That is more a matter for Mary, but she will agree with me that this is your house. But won't Clarkson mind moving into his wife's home?"

"He is not as unenlightened as he presents himself."

Matthew laughed. "Very well. I am glad to see you happy mother."

"He won't replace your father, you know."

"I wouldn't expect him to."

Mary, on hearing the news, exclaims, "Thank Goodness. I don't think I could have borne another night of him pining after her with a very obvious question on his lips."

To which her husband responds that she evolves day by day into her grandmother. Mary glares at him but is always secretly glad when he resurrects a joke from days past. Her Matthew will come back to her soon.

Xx

In the middle of July, Edith and Anthony Strallan travel to London to a meeting of the Women's Land Army Directorate. There, Edith is given an award of honour, noting her service and diligent loyalty to the war effort. Speeches are made, celebrating the work done by Edith, and two other ladies. Cheap, war-time champagne is drunk, and cake is served. Anthony beams proudly at his wife and congratulates himself on the woman who is at the center of his life. While he is enjoying this particular moment, Edith is the recipient of an unpleasant encounter.

Marietta Walsingham, Duchess of Drury, comes to clasp Edith in warm congratulations.

"I must say, Lady Strallan, that I was surprised to see how ardently you have worked to support the war effort."

"Why would it be such a surprise?"

"It is no secret that your husband is a public supporter and patron of the Peace Society."

"My husband feels that war is a great tragedy, but he is willing to do everything he can to support the needs of our boys in France. He does not shirk his duty, and neither, as you know has any other member of my family."

"Now that is an untruth, Lady Strallan, surely. Your sister Lady Mary seems to have allowed for her name to appear quite publicly on a list of pacifists. See, I have here the list with me, for printing in tomorrow's Times. The list was sent to me to warn me that an odious uncle of mine has placed himself there. Imagine my astonishment to find that the sister of one of our honorees should be on it also."

"Why is it more shocking to see my sister's name on such a list when my husband is also a known pacifist?"

"Because it also names her as part of a delegation that will be making representation to European powers to end the war. Something that, so far, has only been the activity of madwomen and socialists. But who can really tell the difference?"

Xx

Let us move ourselves away from Edith's frowning face and swirl a little across the sea to a small working man's pub in Galway. Inside, a few patrons sit, nursing glasses of warm stout. A young man draws circles in the dust of his table, whiling away the afternoon before it is time for him to go to work. The bus boy comes up and wipes the dust away quickly, glaring at the man for calling attention to the state of the table. Not that it matters. The dust is everywhere, for it is ancient, heavy, laborious dust. The bus boy wipes it away, and the dust simply re-settles, in a different clump, insolent and grey.

The grey insolence of the mood that the bus boy has been in for the past several months. Yet, he is grateful for the work that he has found, what little that it is. He could aspire to something more, for, as a certain young lady had said to him, he has 'arms and legs enough.' Perhaps, he thinks, he will be something more. He presses his hands against his breast pocket, where, five letters, each unopened, each in the soft cursive of the woman he loves, reside. His pride overcomes him. How, after casting her aside in gloom can he go back to her now? And what could he offer, the dust rag he uses for the tables?

Wiping a tear from his good eye he resolves, with no real catalyst, that he would make his journey back to Sybil, but that the man she would receive would be a man of accomplishment, a man who has conquered himself.

But this is the problem with proud men of the moral high ground. While they work to make themselves worthy, they oddly forget to reach out to the woman they are fighting for. By the time our gallant Irish Cyclops has conquered himself, will he be too late to win his fair maiden? Or will we enter a revisionist fairy tale, where the maiden will slay the dragons and save this man from himself?


	42. Chapter 42

**Thank you for reviews and welcome to new followers! On with the show. Apologies for lack of updates, I've had too many conferences and too many essays to mark! Literally been on four different timezones over the last two weeks.**

Sybil rubbed tired eyes as she made her way downstairs to the nurse's station. The previous evening had been later than usual as the family had come to dinner and a battle royal had ensued with Mary and Anthony on one side and Violet and Robert on the other. Matthew had been quiet all evening, dangerously quiet. When Sybil had finally managed to slip away, she had been caught by Violet and lectured for several minutes on "inappropriate friendships.". Sybil had, therefore, had a restless night. Did Granny know something? Had her sisters betrayed her? Surely not. She knew that Mary and Edith both hoped that Sybil would choose a different man, but they would not throw her to the wolves.

As she crosses the floor of the servant's hall, she is surprised by a wave of laughter from the direction of the kitchen. On the crest of the wave, she saw Mr. Carson, eyebrows ablaze with fury, charging towards the kitchen. Her curiosity aroused, Sybil followed him thither. She finds the kitchen maids and Mrs. Patmore grouped together, giggling like schoolgirls.

"What is the meaning of this?", booms Mr. Carson

"Allright, Allright Mr. Carson. There's someone here to see you.", says Mrs. Patmore with a grimace.

The crowd parts to reveal a young man with an oddly familiar face.

"If he is here to see me, why was he not sent to me directly? Who are you?", demanded Mr. Carson

"I am very sorry, sir. I stopped to pass on a message to Mrs. Patmore. My name is Kieran Branson." The rough, soft Irish tones – not to mention the name- makes Sybil's heart flutter. She steps forward to reveal herself.

"I'm sure Mr. Carson will forgive you Mr. Branson. You are very welcome to Downton."

"Thank you Nurse."

"This is not nurse, this is Lady Sybil Crawley." Mr. Carson is a tenacious man.

"Oh Mr. Carson, I don't care about all that. What brings you to Downton Mr. Branson?"

Mr. Carson stares at Sybil, utterly aghast at her dismissal of hierarchy and structure.

Mr. Branson stares at Sybil, too. _Well no wonder Tom's all wound up, she is a gorgeous girl._

"Milady, I am here to collect some of my brother's personal effects. I also have a meeting with Captain Crawley."

"Should I then take it that your brother has no intention of returning to Downton in the near future?", asks Sybil slowly.

"That is correct, milady. I am sent here to make the necessary arrangements with Mr. Carson ." Kieran tries to say this as kindly as he can.

"Then you should stop dithering and come with me.", says Mr. Carson.

Kieran bows and hurries off. Sybil, as if in a daze, goes to the nurse's station and stands there until matron comes in search of her.

"Nurse Crawley! You are on shift!"

Sybil rubs her eyes- this time not from tiredness- and runs to do her duty.

Xx

And so let us fly to Locksley on the Magic Carpet of Narration, where we find Lady Edith Strallan posing to advantage in her study, in her garden, with a group of young women from the Land Army, and finally, at the doors to Locksley with her beaming husband.

After the reporter from The Times leaves, the Strallans walk back to the house hand in hand.

"Thank you for doing that, darling."

"Not at all , dear. I am always pleased to be a part of government propaganda.", teased her husband.

"It's a story that will boost morale! How good for people around the country to see read about the effort we are making here!" exclaims Edith with passion.

"I only mock my dear, I do not resist.", says Anthony seating himself by a window.

Edith smiles. "I think it will be good for Papa to have a daughter in the paper for a reason that is not notorious."

"You do know that I greatly admire what Mary is trying to do ."

"I think we have already had this fight, haven't we darling?"

"Yes. I know you do not oppose a woman's voice being heard, and that is what it is."

"I agree, but don't you think that, at the end of the day, all Mary is, all I am, are novelties? The wives and daughters of peers who play at serious things. When we are, though opposite, both very earnest. If you heard Papa last night, he was annoyed at Mary for getting involved, not because he recognises she has serious intent."

"I am glad to see that you have such respect for what Mary is trying to do."

"I still do not agree with her. But it is unlike Mary to be this rigid about something controversial in her public life. She really is sensitive to what the world thinks. She must really care about the stance she has taken."

The Strallans are quiet for a few minutes. Edith is waiting for his response and Anthony is mulling the possibility that much of the antagonism between the two sisters is because of – and not, as he had previously assumed a lack of- understanding of each other. This, he felt, only made the tension more of a challenge.

"Do you propose to take Mary's side with your Papa?"

Edith snorted. "No, I certainly do not. Do you know that she told Mama that Lili really is 'the plainest little thing'? She doesn't seem to notice how bland George looks."

"I think our child is beautiful, and that is enough for me. Besides, I don't think you brought up the previous issue just to make a petty remark."

"I did not. You are too good to me, Anthony. It is only that Papa's attitude has given me an idea for what I want to do after the war."

"After the war? I rather hope that we will go back to our quiet regular lives. Bring up our children, organize the church bazaar. Settle puerile village disputes."

"All of those things darling, of course, but it struck me that while The Sketch and The Times feature stories about things that we do, we don't have a space for a serious women's magazine. You know, featuring amateur women writers, columns. A magazine for the female country aristocrat. Milady's Voice."

Anthony looks at her fondly. "A capital name and a good idea, but running a magazine, even a small one , will be a lot of work. You are still running this household and bringing up three children. We may still have more children."

His wife looked at him archly. "Do you think we should have more children?"

"I have always enjoyed a large family. Do you wish to stop having children?"

"I really don't know."

Anthony flexed his fingers and said in a paternalistic way, "Well my dear, I will support you, as I have always pledged to do. However, I think you should consider if you will be able to manage everything. You mustn't overtire yourself. It would also be ideal if you would give thought to the idea of more children. I certainly would like to grow the family if we can. I hope you do not think me overly controlling to say these things. I think a husband has a duty to encourage his wife, and yet, it is also my duty to advise and warn. "

Edith crooked her head a little, looked at him and then looked out the window.

"I am convinced to take my time in reflection."

"Good. And now I must away, duty calls."

Xx

In a corner of the little garden at Crawley House, Mary sits with a pile of paperwork and a large glass of something cold. She hears a little squeak and looks up to see her husband rolling his way toward her.

"Hello, darling. Did you have a good rest?", she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"I did, thank you."

"I'm glad. You seemed out of sorts last night."

Matthew smiled a tight smile, but did not respond. Sensing that he did not wish for much conversation, Mary turned her head back to her work.

He watched the cloudless sky for some time, relaxing into the soft sounds of the pages she was turning. He looked down at his legs, encased in soft linen. He looked at her, looking feminine and beautiful in lavender. A light breeze managed to tease a small strand of hair loose. In that moment, she was the Mary that only he knew.

"There is a steady offensive building up. Perhaps we are looking at the end of the war.", he remarked slowly.

"I hope so.", she responded distractedly.

"If that is the case, then making representations for peace would seem ill-advised."

"There is always a need to ensure that peace holds." She looked at him directly, coolly. "Do you have a point, Matthew?"

"Only that I agree with Robert and Violet that you should not be a part of the peace delegation."

"This is something that I must do, and you said you would support me."

"I am not sure how I feel about such a public declaration."

"Why?"

"I risked my life, I am facing a handicap because of my service in the war. I do not regret it. I did what was right."

Her look grew colder. "What has this war done but wasted life, and lives? The war almost crippled you, it blinded Branson, for what purpose?"

"To defend the principles of civilisation that we stand for."

"Isn't it interesting how pretty words can mask that which is entirely vague?!

"Your intent makes me feel that my sacrifice was of no worth."

"You should not have had to make this sacrifice at all. Also, as a peer, you should feel this the most. The war will not allow us to go back to the same lives that we expected to live. Great ructions are affecting the class system. We will have to respond to how people have been forced to live."

"Ah, as always your reasons come back to practicalities."

"Ugh. Is this scolding over? We had previously agreed to respectfully pursue our separate paths with regards to this."

"I am not here to scold you. Or to forbid you. I am here to present my strong preference that you scale back your involvement."

"Your preference is noted." She turned back to her work.

"Mary, do not place me in a position where I will have to forbid you."

"Matthew, do not place me in a position where I will have to think of you as abhorrent andf mediaeval."

"Oh, take it seriously."

Mary pushed out her jaw and looked straight ahead of her. "Forbidding each other is not how we are together."

"I am not forbidding you, I am appealing to you."

"I do not find any part of this conversation to be appealing to _me._ "

"Oh Mary, for once in your life! Listen to-"

He is interrupted by the entrance of a very emotional looking Sybil.

"Matthew, ", says Sybil, "I have been waiting to see you. Did Mr. Branson meet you? Do you know anything of Tom's plans?"

"I wrote to Tom to offer him a place in our household. He says that, for now, he cannot accept one.", said Matthew will less civility than he should have shown.

"I think I should go to him. Mary you told me not to do so , once, but can you not see that I must?"

"I do not think it wise, Sybil. Perhaps you should consider the sense in what Branson has decided."

Matthew flashes her a look that telegraphs _Do you not see the irony in advising your sister to act cautiously?_

Mary only looks at him with resentment.

"Perhaps, Sybil darling, you should do as you will. _I_ have no interest in forbidding anyone.", she said, more to her husband than to her sister.

Matthew ignored her and said to Sybil, "I would advise that you consider all the possibilities, and only act after reflection. That is the sensible way in which to pursue one's life. An insensible path would be to act recklessly purely for the sake of being a nonconformist."

Mary almost hissed and spat like a cat. Instead, she rose, and said in magnificent tones. "I shall call Barrow to take you back into the house my dear. I fear the hot sun may be too tiring for one in your condition."

Sybil, thankfully ,is too wrapped up in her own thoughts to truly understand the angry energy fizzing between her sister and brother-in-law. As Matthew watched his wife walk away, he felt some regret for his last words. He had spoken with pure anger. He admired Mary because she knew her own mind, because she was passionate. He loved her for it. And yet, and yet. He dug his nails into his palms, in frustration at the wreck that he had made of the conversation, and in agony at the wreck that his body still was.


	43. Chapter 43

**Praise be to those who review.**

Do you believe in magic? I'd wager that we must keep our minds open to magic, for there is always something in the wind. Call it inspiration, call it a muse, call it a chill in the wind that wakes up your mind, call in the Holy Spirit, call it a demi-god, but the world is awash with magic. After all, how else do you explain all the stories that are constantly being told?

This thing – I'll call it magic- swirled through the late summer night. It appeared as a breeze. It floated through the window of Sybil's bedroom and visited her for a while. It found Mary, restless and unable to sleep, standing at the open window of her bedroom. It came in through the open window of the nursery at Locksley, ruffling Edith's hair as she sat there with little Lillian in her arms.

Edith allowed the coolness of it to play through her mind. She looked around at the still, peaceful nursery, the children looking for all the world like cherubs. Robbie would be five in December! The thought felt a little horrid to Edith, to think that, he would soon be old enough to have his own room, to be sent to boarding school!

Nanny grunted and let out an almighty snore, waking Lili up a little. Edith rocked her and soothed her – Lili , not Nanny- and felt herself on the cusp of a decision. Once the baby had settled, she took herself to her little sitting room and worked feverishly for the rest of the night, allowing the singular moment of inspiration to buoy her.

Anthony awoke to find his wife seated on the edge of their bed, looking like a child in the pre-present portion of Christmas.

"Is everything all right, my dear?"

"Everything is extremely all right, husband."

A gentle knock on the door brings in Barnaby, Anthony's valet, with a cup of tea. With a slight raise of his brow, his acknowledges that his mistress is also awake.

"Milady, should I ask Miss Baker to bring up your breakfast?"

"Not quite yet, Barnaby. I shall be going right back to bed. Would you have her wake me at ten, please?"

"Certain, milady. I have laid the light grey suit out for you, Sir Anthony."

"Thank you Barnaby, I will join you in the dressing room presently.", said Anthony. When the estimable valet had left, he said, "I think you have shocked him by being awake at an unladylike hour."

"It's only six am, and I have had a glorious night."

"I can see that. I hope you aren't overtaxing yourself."

"There are times in our marriage when it's almost like being married to Papa.", said Edith petulantly.

Anthony laughed and leaned over to kiss her softly on her mouth.

"Am I too paternalistic?"

Edith shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I have something to show you." She rose and went to her dressing table and lifted the small bundle of paper she had lain there. Triumphantly, she placed the item in her husbands hands.

"What is this?"

"A mock up of what I want the magazine to look like. I also thought, we could hire some of the young women and men we've being working with and run a small press here at Locksley. A Yorkshire based magazine for upper class women! Wouldn't it be marvellous?"

"Darling this is tremendous work, and I do like the idea. Especially if it creates employment. I will again warn you that it will be a lot of work."

"Don't you think I will be up to such a challenge?"

"I did not say that."

Edith looked at him with a Mary-ish frost in her eye. "I am determined to do it,and I did spend my time thinking about it."

Anthony raised his hands in surrender. "Pax, pax."

He finished his tea. "Did you think about growing our family?"

"I did. I would like another child. Four is a good, round number. We can hire a junior nanny if we need to. But I would like to wait until the war is over before we attempt another."

"Ah. Very well." Anthony looked disappointed.

Edith grasped his hand mischievously. "It does not mean you will have to sleep in the dressing room, darling. There are lots of ways to live married love."

Anthony blushed. After all, he was a man of his generation and therefore not a modern man.

"I shall entrust all of that to you.", he said, becoming part of a history of men who delegated the woman to be in charge of birth control.

"Thank you darling. I don't ever want us to fight.", said his wife, kissing him quickly and settling herself into the covers.

"I expect that we will sometimes fight, my dear. However, in a few years, I may be so old that your wrath will fall on deaf ears."

Edith made a face in in his general direction. He shook with laughter at how much it made her look like little Marigold.

"What is your schedule today Anthony? Will you have some time to take the children to their secret garden after tea?"

"Why don't we take tea in the garden? I have some letters this morning, and then I have some meetings with the farmer's union, and the hospital board. I am afraid that we may need to commandeer parts of the school house for the hospital so that we can treat local patients properly. Grantham says that the soldiers are overrunning the outpatient clinic."

"How grim. I shall telephone Mama and see if I can arrange more volunteer time with the hospital or at Downton. I shall spend my morning with Mrs. MacGeorge. Running a household with three children on rations is getting harder and harder. I shall have to speak to Mr. Moseley about how we can supplement from the kitchen gardens."

"Without forcing us to a complete vegetable diet.", said Anthony with feeling.

"We all have to make sacrifices in the war.", responded his wife. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. For she had done much work, much thinking, and saw that it was good.

Xx

Sybil, too, was awake at an ungodly hour. Surprising the scullery maid, who squeaked with terror to see a member of the family up before the fires were lit, Sybil thundered down the stairs and waited in the servant's courtyard for Kieran Branson. He appeared very shortly, as he needed to get to the village for the morning train back to Leeds and was most surprised to be ambushed by Sybil. She, though a gorgeous girl, looked a little frightful that morning. Her hair, bound in a loose plait had come quite unravelled, causing much of it to stand straight out the sides of her head. Her apron was on askew, and was covered in ink, and her face was red with energy and nervousness.

"Milady?..."

"Oh I hope I didn't frighten you. I have a letter. A letter, you _must_ give it to Tom. You _must."_ She said it all without stopping for breath.

Kieran took the proffered letter. "Of course milady."

"I hope that one day you will be able to call me Sybil.", she said.

He gaped at her, and she used the moment to nod her head and him and run back to the house. She opened servant's entrance, but upon entering noticed Mrs. Hughes quite directly in her path. Turning around, she ran round the side, through the hedges, and then, slowing her pace, walked sedately to the front door.

Which was a jolly stupid thing to do. Violet Crawley, having been jibed by Isobel for never offering o volunteer for early morning assistance at Downton, was coming up the drive in all her pomp and ceremony to prove the point that _she_ , Dowager Countess of Grantham, was no sluggard! The Dowager was counting down the days until Isobel became Mrs. Clarkson and then would be forced to behave in a manner proper to the wife of the doctor who served the family. Violet smiled to herself, thinking of the many barbs she had prepared for the hospital board meeting that afternoon.

 _What an untidy creature than nurse looks! If this is how they run things in the morning, it is good that I am here,_ thought the Dowager to herself. She almost gasped when she realised who the nurse was. This was atleast the second time that she had noticed Sybil approaching the house from the servant's entrance. The Dowager whipped her head in the direction of the hedge that hid the servant's courtyard. Unfortunately, at this very moment, Kieran Branson was also exiting the area. From the Dowager's vantage point, he looked enough like his brother for her to harrumph with annoyance. She leapt out of the car with the agility of a jungle cat and struck her cane down in front of her granddaughter.

"Why, my dear, do you look like you have been playing the part of a notorious bar wench?"

Sybil is calming down and feeling quite sleepy. "Sorry Granny, didn't get dressed properly this morning. Do excuse me."

"I do not excuse you. What have you been doing, young lady?"

"Delivering a parcel."

"Oh?", said the Dowager in tones so steeped with doom that Sybil's drowsiness left her immediately.

"Whatever you think Granny, it's all very innocent."

"Is it something you can tell your mother?"

"Not exactly."

"Then it is not innocent. If you cannot tell your mother, it is something hidden and secret. I knew there was something. You will tell me everything, Sybil Crawley."

"It's really nothing Granny."

"This conversation grows circuitous."

A soft footstep is heard on the gravel. It is Mr. Carson, who has come to attend to the arrival of the Dowager.

That lady rapped her cane on the ground and looked at her granddaughter sternly. " _Pas devant le domestique._ Go upstairs, tidy yourself and, when you are presentable, I will be in the Pink Room and you will provide me with a full accounting of your morning's wanderings."

Xx

Mary Crawley is waiting for her husband to wake up. She stares at him, willing him awake. He gently snores and rolls over in his sleep. Our Mary is not a patient person. Where Edith had waited quietly till Anthony woke up naturally, Mary was ready for a conversation, whether Matthew was or not. She shook him awake.

He darted up, raising his hands in an attitude of self-defense. As he slowly oriented himself, he noticed that the figure standing over him was not a Hun. At least if it was a Hun, it was one who had a rather distinct taste for silky nighties.

"Mary? What is it? Is George ill?"

"We never finished our fight."

"Can it wait till I've had my breakfast?"

She threw him a biscuit from the little tin on the bedside table.

He surrendered. "Very well. To arms."

She sat in the chair by his side. "Each time I look at you I am angry. I know you will recover but you won't recover completely. I sleep by your side, I see the sweat and the terror. Your scars are so very deep. I want to take a bayonet to the people who caused this war and who have hurt you."

"Mary, you mustn't be angry. I thank God every day for my life, and for my chance to do my duty. The terrors will recede."

"I am angry with you because you will not share your terrors with me."

"Then on that count you will have to remain angry."

She looks as if she is about to cry. Matthew wills her to cry, for he feels it is necessary. With a monumental effort, she arranges her face into an expressionless mask. This irritates him and he punches the mattress.

"Do you not think that I am angry to have my body be such a wreck? If you saw the things that I did on the battlefield…"

"Tell me what you saw! I know some of these things, from Sybil. Don't you think that we must work to avoid such waste again?"

"It is so disrespectful of you to use the suffering and sacrifice of men for political gain."

"Is that what you think of me?!

He sighs.

"Of course not darling. But you said yourself that peace is better for the aristocracy than war. I know your practical mind."

"Matthew I don't want to fight you. I want to be held in your arms, and to feel close to you again. I haven't had a proper kiss since you were wounded."

He breaks, and cries softly. "Mary, it is all too much for me now. I have so many different kinds of pain. And I need you my darling, but I am already a burden."

She rises from the chair, gets into the bed and cradles him on her chest. "Beloved. I work for peace to avenge your pain. That, above all, is my reason." She kisses his forehead till his tears subside.

He strokes her arm. "I am sorry that we cannot make love until I am better."

"I can wait, but I must insist on a proper kiss."

"Happy to oblige, Mrs. Crawley." He pulls her head down on to his and kisses her as if they were newlyweds. The frisson between them also causes a rather intriguing tingle down the sides of his right leg. Matthew does not inform his wife of this, but feels pleased to think that such kisses may aid his recovery.

Mary slides herself down onto her stomach and looks at him.

"Last night, I decided that you were right."

"Now _that_ would have been the time to wake me. Did you note down the exact hour? It should be recorded for prosperity."

"Don't be facetious. Have you no wish to know what it is you are correct about?"

"I wish to revel in the fact that I am correct at all. But do tell me.", he grins at her in the impish grin of a pre-war Matthew.

"You are right about the futility of simply making representation for peace. It would only be a singular event, a line in the newspaper. The point is to ensure that Europe does not go to war again. That George and his generation are spared all of this. That is a long term goal."

"And you want to be part of such work? Do you know how you will affect it."

She smiled with great glee. "I think that I do."

Before he can ask for her idea, there is a knock on the door and Anna comes in. "Good morning milady, but Lady Sybil is on the phone for you."

Mary and Matthew exchange worried looks, before Mary slips on her dressing gown and hurries downstairs. She comes back quite swiftly.

"Darling, would you mind awfully if I ran off to Downton? Sybil is in a bit of a state. Granny caught her this morning after a conversation with the other Branson and is demanding an explanation."

"Ring Sybil back, and ask her to bring Cousin Violet here for morning tea. We promised to stand by her and we might as well be with her if she has to make a clean breast of things. I think it's best you go warn Mother. Tell her what you have to."

"Golly. What is it that you are trying to do?"

He looked at her with a glint in his eye.

"Administrating the family."

Xx


	44. Chapter 44

**Forgive me , my friends. If it helps at all, I am transitioning to a new, more senior role. And whaddaya know, they expect one to work and NOT write fanfiction, it's tragic. But here is something quick, coming to you all the way from Montreal**

Youth is fleeting. Sybil Crawley is fleet-footed. While the Dowager waits for the car to come round, Sybil, throwing caution and her skirts to the winds, flies to Crawley House. She arrives five – a mere five, but it is enough!- minutes before the car and throw herself, supplicant-like, at Mary.

"Mary I KNOW you would prefer I marry Charles, but you will stand up for me with Granny won't you? Won't you?"

Mary patted her cheek. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself, Sybil. You should have come in the car with Granny. Now you have handed her power. Go to the nursery and catch your breath."

After Mary despatched her sister, Matthew turned to her and said quietly. "It is too much stress for someone of her age."

Mary is in no mood for a lecture. "Oh don't start Matthew. Besides, Sybil is far more capable than ten young women of her age."

Isobel, listening to them, nodded her head in the background.

"Mother I know you are here for supplementary bolstering, but it is not for you to interfere or share an opinion.", said the heir to Downton.

His mother almost broke her egg spoon.

The Dowager arrived in a tower of amusement. Noting Matthew and Mary in the room, she raised her brows and became a tower of astonishment.

"When Sybil told me that the answers I sought would be at Crawley House, I rather thought that my meeting would be with you, Cousin Isobel. But I see that the plague has a more problematic source.", she said with a steely look at Matthew.

"Why would you assume that it was I, Cousin Violet?", asked Isobel.

"Well my dear, we all know that you desire to champion the underdog is as resilient as a weed."

Matthew sighed and cut in. " Cousin Isobel. Your meeting is with Sybil. We are all here to support her. Mother, Mary and I."

"Yes, I do see that Mary has been a very _silent_ supporter."

The Dowager's freezing tones causes Mary to blush guiltily. Even so, she said, "Edith and I have advised Sybil as best we can, but we _are_ her sisters and there is loyalty in that."

The Dowager snorted. The snort sounded like, "Et tu Edith?"

Mary left to fetch Sybil. There is dead quiet in the room. Then, the Dowager, whilst dusting some lint off her gloves, said to Matthew, "You are not the Earl yet. It is not for you to administrate the family."

Matthew is on fire with purpose. "Sybil confided in me, she is the next generation. I feel that at this moment, it is better that I handle the situation without troubling Robert."

"And why would you suppose that it is Robert who administrates the family?" countered the Dowager.

Now it is Isobel's turn to snort.

The sisters enter in a defiant rustle of skirts.

"All right Granny. You won't like what I have to tell you."

The Dowager raised an imperious hand.

"No. I have no desire to hear what I already know. You will only confirm. Sit."

Sybil acquiesced.

"You have an inappropriate relationship with the chauffeur Branson?"

"Tom is my batman-"

"This is between Sybil and myself, you said you were here to support her. Sybil?"

"Tom and I are in love, that is correct."

The statement causes Mary to wince.

"Then is there an understanding between the two of you? Are you engaged to be married to him?"

"We do not have a binding understanding."

"Is it likely that he will propose?"

"Tom is recovering from his injuries in Ireland. When he is recovered…"

"He has abandoned you?"

"He has not abandoned me. He is recuperating."

The Dowager looked at Sybil with sincere compassion.

"My darling Sybil. I have high regard for Branson. My regard is now higher. As he has injured himself he has had the sense to release you. You must follow his guidance."

"Granny, you don't understand. It's not only that I love Tom. It is that with him I can have the life that I want."

"A simpler life? That is what you call it isn't it? Sybil, two weeks in a nursing school is not the same as the life you will have to lead. It is not like the novels, my dear. It will be difficult. There will be less money."

"I don't give a fig about money."

"You will when children come along. Your children will not thank you for making them poorer than their cousins."

"I feel I should interrupt here, Cousin Violet. Mary and I have offered Tom a place in our household as my private secretary. It will certainly not consign Tom and Sybil to the situation you foresee. Tom is a bright and industrious man, he will make great things of any opportunity afforded to him.", said Matthew huffily.

"And has Branson agreed to taking up this position?"

"No, he has not."

The Dowager looked at Matthew triumphantly.

"If you will permit me, Cousin Violet, I believe his reluctance is due to his own embarrassment at his wound. In time, he will change his mind. I also hasten to add that war is a great equalizer. We do not think of Tom as a chauffeur anymore, he is now my faithful batman and aide."

"As was the good Mr. Bates. He served Robert in the war and is now content to be his valet. A position that you will agree is that of a servant. You cannot wave a magic wand and change who someone is. And Sybil, my dear, you are not the first aristocratic woman to throw yourself into an unfortunate marriage. Successful marriages in these cases are very rare. You will have nothing. Not by common law, and certainly not from the estate."

"I told you I don't care about money. And Matthew is right. Working as a nurse, I have ceased to be Lady Sybil!"

"Oh Sybil darling don't be stupid. I know it's vulgar to talk about money, but it's equally vulgar to pretend not to be practical.", said Mary losing her patience.

"I thought you supported me, Mary.", snapped Sybil.

"I do, dearest, I do. I just want you to enter such a marriage with your eyes open. It won't be easy. Matthew and I have every advantage and we have to work at ours. Imagine how it will be when you are also struggling with other things."

Sybil closed her eyes and counted to twenty. When she opened them, she looked around at the faces of her family, all awaiting her decision.

"I have written to Tom. May I be allowed to wait until he replies?"

"Yes, yes I think so. Don't look so surprised, Matthew, I am a fair woman. And Branson isn't completely a Bolshevik. But I only add one condition."

"What is it, Granny?"

"You told your mother you would consider Charles Blake. I believe that was an empty promise. I will invite Charles to the Dower House, to ask his opinion on my post-war investments. You will take every opportunity to seriously consider him as a husband. Do you agree?"

Sybil silently nodded her assent, and then, with a furious look at Mary, left the house.

Xx

Lady Sybil Crawley to Cpl Tom Branson:

 _My darling Tom,_

 _I think of you every day and know that, whatever happens, we shall find our way to each other. My letter is a short one, but you will note that the package is thick. I have spent all night transcribing a text from a medical book. It details exercises that you can do to develop your good eye, and a few tricks for learning to read with just one eye! So much is possible._

 _I have studied the texts myself, and included a few more little ideas that I think will be useful for you as well. I even wrote out a list of professions for you. I have not given up, I am eager to become more acquainted with opthamology. Is it not fortunate that I am in the medical profession?_

 _Oh do write to me Tom. You staying away is beyond silly. I reject your sulking – for that is what it is- utterly!_

 _I love you,_

 _Sybil._

Tom crumpled up the small piece of ivory coloured paper. He stopped for a moment, when the fragrance that wafted from it reminded him of Sybil, and of the seemingly endless summers of Downton. Then, with determination, he threw the note into the bin. He looked at the heavy volume of transcribed text and made to throw it also. However, feeling some guilt at the effort Sybil had made, he simply tucked it away under his mattress.

He pulled out a blank piece of paper and scribbled a hasty reply.

Xx

A week later, Sybil thrilled to see Tom's writing on an envelope delivered to her by Mr. Carson. That lovely old gentleman's brows trembled as he looked at the dear girl's crestfallen face. For Sybil had just read these words:

 _Sybil,_

 _Forget me. Forgive me._

 _Tom_

 _xx_


	45. Chapter 45

**Thanks for reviewing! Another quick chapter on its way to you. I do promise that S/T are endgame, but I am happy for it to be a bit of a wait, hope you are too!**

Summer gives way to the autumn, as summer eventually does. She does not go gently, this summer. As Mary and Matthew pile themselves, their child and their possessions into the train to London, they swelter under the unseasonable heat. Matthew, now able to walk with just his cane, looks like a caged bird set free. It is a good day for England. Not a week ago, the Allies had succeeded forcing German troops over the Hindenburg Line. At Downton station, the war seemed far away and peacetime seemed almost tangible.

But war was still all around them, and as Mary exited the station at King's Cross, the government propaganda, and the crowd of nurses, soldiers, and auxiliary corps reminded her afresh of the bubble that they were able to live in at Downton. Yes, the house and the hospital were full of the wounded and the recuperating, but they seemed so much a part of the fabric that Mary hardly recognised them for what they were. _Victims of an unnecessary war. I must stop this. I promised Matthew. He looks so happy to be back in London, to be in our own house, to be starting work. Thank God Papa managed to get Barrow released from duty, we are reliant on him now for Matthew's care._

She nodded to the valet, freshly be-suited in his black valet's uniform, and beckoned to Anna.

"Mr. Crawley and Master George are going straight to the house, but I will be taking luncheon with Aunt Rosamund. Did you pack the little overnight bag? Good. I rather need a change before the meal. Ah, Barrow, Anna will go with me now, I think Mrs. Braithwaite is already at the house. Do you suppose we can be organized enough for a simple supper for Mr. Crawley and I this evening? He won't want to go out."

"Yes, milady. Not to worry."

As Mary watched him go, she realised the extent to which she had come to trust Barrow. She always wondered at the prudence of this, but knew Anna was a keen watchdog. Besides, Barrow had been invaluable to Matthew's therapy.

"Darling?"

She looked up into Matthew's impossibly blue eyes, and, as she always did when he looked at her, she forgot the war, the servants, her worries, even, at times, her child.

Xx

Several hours later, Matthew walked into the master bedroom at Montrose Place and stopped for a moment to marvel at his wife. He liked Mary best in these evening hours, with her hair down her shoulders and free from pins. There was no makeup on her face, and she was dressed simply, in a sheath of peach silk. She smelled, almost imperceptibly, of jasmine. He steadies his thoughts as Anna walks by him, her arms full of clothes and a knowing smile on her face.

"Good night Mr. Crawley."

"Good night Anna."

He moves to the bed and gingerly settles in. While he is close to full recovery, he is still a little creaky.

Mary joins him and they, in a comfortable fashion, reach for their respective bed time reading.

"Was that your mother on the phone for you, darling?", asks Mary after a while.

"Yes. The wedding date is set for October, she's very pleased. Although, she had to spend the day battling Cousin Violet."

"What is it now?"

"You know that Mother and Clarkson – I suppose I should call him Richard now- wanted to marry at the registry. Cousin Violet has pooh-poohed the idea. The village doctor must be married at the church! She thinks a big wedding with raise everyone's spirits. I have to agree."

"Yes, I do too. I was only supportive of the registry because there is no way we can have a proper reception with Downton still serving as a house of healing."

"Ah, Violet has solved that. A champagne reception in the grounds of the Dower House. All in aid of rousing spirits, of course."

"Goodness. You know I think that Granny is very fond of Isobel. If only she would admit it."

Matthew laughed uproariously. "Mother has got her way with one thing, though. No gifts, just donations to the refugees in lieu of gifts."

"Granny must have hated that."

"Yes, Mother said she did a very good impression of a stuffed fish."

Mary giggled, but then sobered up. " Mama and Papa won't like it either. I know they have had a small brooch made up especially as a wedding gift."

"Well, mother won't wear it."

"She should keep it. You will be the Earl, and the parties and dinners will only get grander."

"Mother won't be the Dowager, Cousin Cora will."

"She will still have to play the part."

Matthew shrugged and went back to his book. They read for a while before Matthew shut his book with a sigh.

"What is it?"

"This book is as dry as dust."

"The diaries…of …an army chaplain? Well of course it's as dry as dust. Why on earth did you pick it up?"

"One of the soldiers at Downton assured me that it was a thrilling read. I expect the pace picks up later. What are you reading? A primer on the constitution? Why, is that to aid you in going to sleep?"

"Philistine! I am expanding my mind."

"Oh, Mrs. Crawley, what a worthy endeavour! But I can think of a much more worthwhile activity."

"And what is that, pray?"

He smiles mischievously, looking like a pre-war, newly wedded Matthew. Quickly, he slips his hand across, closing her book, and then grasping her hand in his. He brings said hand to his lips and nuzzles her inner wrist, slowly trailing kisses up her arm, until he reaches that special place at her neck.

"Well, Mrs Crawley, what do you say to my proposition?", he murmurs.

"I am _almost_ convinced.", she says breathlessly.

"Oh?". With a flick of his wrist he has dropped the strap of her nightie, exposing one exquisite breast. He claims it with his mouth, and she lets out a soft moan.

It is all the acquiescence he needs.

Xx

We hurtle into the next two weeks, and arrive at Locskley. The early autumn morning is crisp, with a warm breeze, and finds Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan at breakfast. Lady Edith looks a little worse for wear. The children have all had influenza this week, and, cognizant of her mother always being hands on during the illnesses of her childhood, Edith has barely left the nursery. This was providential, for Nanny fell ill shortly after the children did and much of the care has fallen to Edith, the junior nanny and a housemaid. It is her chop and change schedule that has Edith joining her husband for the morning meal.

"Lilli's fever broke last night, thank God. But she was quite hot in the evening and so I couldn't join you for dinner. I hope you didn't mind, dear."

"Not at all. I am glad to hear that Lili is better. How are Marigold and Robert?"

"Steady, and out of danger. I think I shall spend one more night in the nursery."

"Mama would often come to feed us in the evening but I don't remember my father ever setting foot in the nursery."

Edith smiled. "It's all right dear, I don't expect you to pitch in."

"Well, as for your pitching in, I think it's time you left it to the staff."

"Not quite yet."

"You know the night before we were married, your father told me that once you had your mind made up, you would be very hard to sway. Said it ran as a trait in all his daughters."

"We change sometimes."

"Yes, I can see some changes.", and Anthony handed over a section of _The Times_ to his wife.

 _The engagement is announced of Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham of Yorkshire, to Mr. Charles Blake, son of the late Hon. Henry Blake and Mrs. Hortense Blake of County Tyrone._

"Well, there it is, in black and white. It's very simple.", said Edith, almost sadly.

"Blake said neither of them wanted any unnecessary fuss. The papers will do a splash for the wedding, whether they like it or not. Blake is heir to a monumental piece of land."

"I think Sybil will dig her heels in about a simple ceremony. Charles will support that. He has already supported her request for a one year engagement."

"I rather thought that made sense, don't you? The Germans may have sent a peace note but we cannot know when the war will end."

"Too true. Mama says Mrs. Patmore is already up in arms about having to make a cake for the Clarksons."

"I'm looking forward to that. I think Robert is old enough to be taken to a wedding, what do you think?"

"It's all up to Nanny. She has the final say. Are you busy today my darling?"

"I have to settle a land case. Poor devils. It's a fairly small farm, but the owner was an older son with no wife or children. He died two years ago in the war, but he died intestate. His two brothers are also serving at the front, but are in a battle over who should get what portion of the farm. I must admit that their two wives – very young women- are almost at war at each other in the courts."

"You shall have to play King Solomon."

"If only I could. I say, Edith, back to this business of Sybil and Blake."

"What is it?"

"Do you know, when Crawley was last here, and the engagement was imminent, Blake asked the two of us a rather curious question over port."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he said that Sybil had told him some time ago that she was promised to someone else. He had asked her about it and she said it was all over. Blake wanted to know if that was all it was."

"What did you say?"

"I said that as far as I knew, Sybil was no longer involved with the chap. Crawley just shrugged and told him that Sybil knows her own mind. I'm not entirely sure that Blake was convinced."

"Well, he must be convinced. He would not have spoken out if he wasn't."

"And that's that. Blake is a sound chap, he will do right by Sybil. I'm glad the whole business of the chauffeur is over. More sensible that way."

 _Yes, we've all been very sensible. And that's that._


	46. Chapter 46

**Something quick and mostly light … apologies… I am travelling so much for work.**

On October 15th, Roulers falls. In less than a month, the war will be over. In nine days, a deadly influenza will begin in the United Kingdom that lasts several months. It is a time of change, of death, of glory.

Sybil wakes in the middle of the night. She considers the effect of the moonlight on her curtain, and, not being an overly romantic sort of girl, she is able to resist writing a poem about it. Being of more of a socialist mind than other girls, she does spend sometime contemplating the vast acres of land that can be seen from her window. She wonders at the rationality of a society in which some can simply own entire parts of a county when others scrabble to have the space for one family. _Tom is so very much in my head._ _But he is right, all of this is… superfluous._

As she stands, musing, she notices a figure walking slowly across the lawn. _Is that one of the soldiers? I don't recognise him. Oh goodness me. It's Charles. What on earth is he doing walking around at this time of night?_

Being a curious sort of girl, Sybil throws on her dressing gown and slippers and slips out of the house. Running swiftly, she soon catches up with her fiancé, and pats him on the shoulder.

"Oh hello, darling. You're awake too?", he greets her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Yes. I saw you come out and wanted to see if you were all right."

He grasps her hand and they walk along. "Before I got on the train to come up to Downtown, I got a telegram. I was so busy with the whole business of travelling and dinner and you of course, darling, that I didn't get time to read it until I got to bed. The batman who served me… he has fallen. He was an awfully good chap. And the last time he was on leave I had not fully recovered and I only faintly remembered him."

"How sad you must be."

"Sybil, you are perfect in your empathy. I want to reach out to his family. What do you suppose I should do?"

"I think you should go and see them. Doesn't that feel like the logical thing?"

"Haha. Yes, of course, I mean I want to honour his legacy somehow."

"You need to be careful of turning into a proper aristocrat. Just ask his family what they would appreciate."

"Ah, now you see, I need you to remind me of myself."

"Unless your real self _is_ to be a frightful toff."

"It would give me immense pleasure to turn you into Mrs. Frightful Toff."

Sybil screams with laughter, frightening the frogs grouped by the ornamental pond. She laughs at them as well and throws herself down on the wrought iron bench. Charles stands behind her with his hand stroking her braid.

"Are you happy, Sybil?"

"Yes, Charles, I am. Of course I am. I've decided on my specialism. I know there were so many I wanted to do, but in the end there was only one choice. Pyschiatric nursing."

"Excellent. Very brave of you my dear, it won't be a popular choice."

She turned to look at him. "But isn't that _precisely why_ I should take it up?"

"It is precisely why you would take it up", he said with great fondness.

"There are lots of soldiers suffering with can only be identified as trauma and.-."

"Darling, I do not need to be convinced. Pax, pax."

"Do you find me very young , Charles?"

"Youth is also enthusiastic and that is a necessary virtue."

"Ah, the diplomatic government official."

"Sometimes you are very like Mary in your ripostes."

Sybil looks at him with great astonishment, and the ensuing laughter frightens those few brave frogs who had ventured back. Charles takes her hand again and motions that they should go back.

"I want to ask you something Charles."

"What it is it?"

"Are you happy?"

"When I look at my life, how can I not be?". He kissed the top of her head and continued, "I have a proposal to make."

"I've already said yes, darling."

"Ah, a Maryism. Ow, ow stop that. Listen to me. The war will be over soon and it will be safe and easy to travel again. What do you say to a trip in the new year, before you start your training? We could go up and see the estate, you could get to know our future home, maybe take a brief tour of Ireland. I should be able to secure a few weeks holiday."

Sybil is silent. Inside her, a feeling that is both joy and dread is welling up. "Yes, yes, I would like that.", she whispers.

In the half-light, she cannot quite see Charles's face. If she had, she would notice the mix of emotions flowing through it. He lifted her hand and kissed it softly. There is such a sadness to the gesture that Sybil leans forward and kisses him full on the mouth. Maybe it is because of her own sadness, her own joy, her own confusion. Who really knows what motivates a kiss?

"Sybil, ", he whispers at her throat, " if you want it to be me, I will try to make you very happy."

It is too much and she weeps softly, her head against his chest.

Xx

Six days later, the local village church is a center of hubbub and activity. Crawley House is a frenzy, but mostly because little George and his cousins have been let loose and there is only one nanny.

"Fiend!", cries Matthew Crawley, lifting up his boisterous and settling him on a sofa. "You will be still, George."

"No!", cries the fiend, jumping off the sofa and making a bee line for a table crowded with gifts. Raising his hands in surrender, Matthew nods sympathetically at nanny and calls out, "Barrow! Come in here and corral Masters George and Robert, please."

Leaving the matter in those expert hands, Matthew runs up to his mothers bedroom and knocks gently.

His wife appears and says waspishly, "What is it? You have advice on setting hats?"

"I say hats off! I need to speak with you privately."

Mary slips out and raises an eyebrow impatiently.

"There are a few people standing on the road to the church, in ..err…protest of the marriage."

"Why? Ghastly people."

"They object to the doctor taking time off, and to the expense to the village."

" Expense to the village! Granny is paying for the whole thing. Besides, if it's only a few people, what is the matter. It's not as if the great unwashed are storming the Bastille."

"Mother will feel a tremendous sense of guilt and not wish to be married."

"Oh God yes. Your mother is frightful in that way. Can't put the wedding off, the souffles are probably already decompressing. Leave it with me. Gather the children and go to the church."

Thirty minutes later, a curious thing is happening. A large hedge at the edge of the graveyard begins to tremble and quiver. Appearing out of it is Lady Mary Crawley. Lady Sybil Crawley and Lady Edith Strallan. Laughing, they reach their hands inside and pull out a giggling Mrs Crawley.

After the ceremony Mary goes to stand by her husband. "How did you do it?"

"I told her that there were some unexplained roadworks and we needed to take an alternate route, but that the only one we could take would make Granny squeal in alarm. She agreed."

"And what is the route?"

Mary only winks at him. "All right wife. Now tell me this, what about the way back?"

Mary winks again. "There are no protestors now, darling. I am the future Countess of Grantham. This isn't my first rabble."

Matthew looks aghast, imagining rocks and eggs being thrown at the house.

"Oh don't worry. If you notice, Sybil isn't here. I've sent the Family Bleeding Heart to give those people tea and listen to their moaning."

"Sometimes darling, you are incredibly frightening."


	47. Chapter 47

**November 11, 1918**

Fin la guerre!. A telegram will send a message of hope and relief throughout the world:

Official Radio from Paris - 6:01 A.M., Nov. 11, 1918. Marshal Foch to the Commander-in-Chief.

1\. Hostilities will be stopped on the entire front beginning at 11 o'clock, November 11th (French hour).  
2\. The Allied troops will not go beyond the line reached at that hour on that date until further orders.

[signed]  
MARSHAL FOCH  
5:45 A.M.

Later, they will ask, as humans do, with our constant need to memorialize our every waking moment, consumed as we are with the greatness of _us_ ( if you don't believe me read almost any creation story), _where were YOU_ _when the war ended? What were you doing?_

 _At 6.01 a.m?_

 **Edith**

At 6.01 a.m, Edith is asleep. As the lady of the house she need not awake until much, much later. There are many things she must do, but she is, as yet, a lady of leisure. Her dreams, however, are not entirely pleasant. She stands in front of a fire, held back from it by her children, and her husband stands within it. But he is not just her husband, at times he transforms into a dragon and he is the fire and yet not the fire. Sweat trickles down her body, and she suddenly has the feeling that she is drowning. She awakens with a shudder and squeezes her husband's body, urgently checking for scales.

He turns to look at her and softly dries the sweat on her brow. Her nightie clings to her, and Anthony's rather sleepy brain is suddenly awake. Edith, mostly relieved that her husband is not the creature of fire from her dreams, giggles and slips under the covers. After all, they don't have to be up for hours.

 **Sybil**

At 6.01 am, Sybil is just finishing her night shift. Her last task is dressing the wounds of a soldier who was badly burned in a mortar attack. His entire body is covered in first degree burns, but his face, miraculously, escaped the fire. It is a beautiful face, deep set dark eyes, aquiline nose, high cheek bones. Yet, every time he sees his corrugated flesh, he weeps and wails like a child. Even now, as Sybil rubs a soothing ointment on him he shudders with tears. She tries to cheer him up by showing him a few places where the skin is trying to grow back, to give him hope, but he only cries harder. Throwing protocol to the wind she brings him close and rocks him gently. _Oh Lord, let it be done, let there be peace, Amen._

 **Mary**

At 6.01 am, Mary has slipped out of her bed, and is studying. She, like Edith, also has big plans for her own future. Her studying is disturbed by an odd noise next door in Matthew's dressing room. Carefully picking up the poker from the fireplace, she creeps through the adjoining door only to be met with the most hysterical sight. Robert Strallan- who has been invited to stay for a few days- and George Crawley, attempting to hide under the dressing room bed. Being yet toddlers, with wobbly coordination, the effort is not particularly successful.

"How on earth did you get in here, you rascals? You can't open the door, can you? Come on, up up. Where is Nanny?"

She grabs the two boys and hustles them down the corridor to the nursery.

"Nanny! Did you realise that your charges had left the room?"

"I am so sorry your Ladyship, I had just gone to dress, I left the under-maid here."

"Well the under-maid is not here. Have her and Barrow sent to me as soon as breakfast is over. "

The two miscreants have simply wandered over to a pile of toys on the floor and have begun throwing it at each other. Mary cannot help but laugh. _Let it not be that they will go to war._

And, unaccountably, she has a vision of an unmarked grave, somewhere in France.

 _At 11.11 a.m?_

 **Edith**

The news having been confirmed in the morning, Edith and Anthony sped to Downton to be with the family. It is a rousing moment for all, with the soldiers, the servants, the Clarksons, and the family all gathered in front of the clock in the great hall. Glasses of wine and champagne are passed around and the doctor quite loses his head and kisses his wife full on the mouth in front of everyone. Lord Grantham makes a speech and says particularly, nodding towards where his wife and two daughters stand.

"So many have laid their lives down for this country, so many young people have joined in service, but I must confess a point of great personal pride when I think of the great contribution and hard work of the women in my family. To the women of England!"

"And Scotland, Ireland and Wales!", responds Sybil cheekily before the room erupts into "Hurrah!"

 **Sybil**

After the toasts are drunk, Sybil takes herself just outside and opens a letter that has just arrived for her.

 _Dear Lady Sybil,_

 _Kieran has told me of your engagement. I wish to offer you both my congratulations. Captain Blake is a fine gentleman, and will be a respected leader in the County._

 _Be happy. My prayers for you now as always,_

 _Tom Branson (cpl)_

Edith comes out to fetch her. Sybil worldlessly hands her the note.

"The past is just prologue Sybil, my dear. Come, it is a new age, we have won a war! Be happy!"

 **Mary**

Matthew is at his offices in Whitehall, for the business of state carries on. Mary sits alone with a cup of tea and marks the time. She opens her notebook to a fresh page and begins to write,

 _I began to consider a life in public service during the Great War. It ravaged Europe and awoke in me a sense of great duty to ensure that my children and my children's children would never be again faced with a time so monstrous and so unnecessary._

A smile plays across her lips, and her hands drops softly to her womb, where another joyous secret also dances.


	48. Chapter 48

**December 23 1918**

" _In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind may moan, earth stood hard as iron, winter like a stone…"_

Locksley House smells fragrantly of Christmas. By which I mean the slightly cloying notes of cinnamon, the earthy odour of pine, and crispness of mince pies. Anthony Strallan stands in the main hall with his son in his arms.

"Are you proud of Mama, my boy?"

"Yes, Papa. Can I have a sweetie?" Children, as you know, are very one-track minded.

Anthony fishes out a little hard toffee from his pockets. "For God's sake, don't tell nanny. Ah, darling, you look splendid!"

Edith has appeared in a rose coloured gown. She does look quite, quite splendid, and also quite cross.

"Robbie, you should be in the nursery, where is Nanny?"

"It's entirely my fault I told him he could watch the room being done up for the party."

"All right, but he must go up now or Nanny will have our heads. Griffiths, will you please take Master George upstairs. Thank you."

The Strallans stroll around their hall and pause at a table full of magazines. "You did it darling, you've published a magazine.", says Anthony squeezing his wife's hand.

"And you've been such a help, my love. Can I tell you something that will make you incandescently happy?"

"Yes, please."

She whispers something in his ear and Anthony takes wing and flies off to the moon.

The rest of the evening passes with increased merriment, for it is not only Yuletide, but also the launch of Edith's little magazine, a work of intense labour for her. The cover proudly celebrated the women at the heart of the Home Movement, and Edith, very readily, had been crowned the queen of the younger generation of movers and shakers. Her newly recruited Deputy Editor, the Duchess of Surrey, comes by with raised eyebrows.

"Don't look now, Edith, but Johnny Wallace has just come in. He's staying with us at Marlin's Gate and overheard the Duke speak of the event. Seems like he invited himself. I know he's an absolute boor, but he just inherited a vast packet from his mother's side. Keep him happy and make sure he gives you a donation. "

With this, she flaps away to where Lord and Lady Grantham- beaming proudly- are standing with a group of friends.

"It's so good of you Duchess, to lend your name to Edith's venture.", says Cora.

"Nonsense. It's marvelous, we young wives need more avenue for voice. There are very few sensible male peers in our generation. Look at Hugh Darnley over there. Solid fellow, Mummy was keen on me marrying him, but the only thing he really knows is cows. Can you talk about manure for fifty years?."

"I think it would be udderly awful.", said the Duke coming up behind her.

" So you see, I had to marry Henry, more out of desperation than anything else."

After the couple leaves, Cora turns to her husband with amusement. "The poor girl has no idea that I know her little story. Henry wasn't supposed to inherit the Duchy, he's the third son and her parents were adamant. They were sneaking around together for a very long time. Then the second son suddenly announced he was going to become a Benedictine monk, and poor Arthur died at the start of the war. Henry and Grace were tremendously lucky. They would have been forced to elope because the only thing he would have come into was a yearly allowance."

"Jolly difficult thing, to be the second or the third. You aren't expected to have a profession, and yet you have to face poverty.", said the Earl.

"It's hardly poverty, but someone ought to push them into real work. It maddens me."

"Mama will accuse you of being American, be careful."

"Still, we must do everything we can for our grandchildren, they shouldn't be allowed to be idle. I am so proud that Matthew and Charles want to be productive people."

"Hmmm yes, but I hope they are able to give it up when they succeed to their titles. Can't be a servant of two masters."

"I don't know. I have a feeling that it will be Mary who takes full charge of running Downton. Every time I see her she is scribbling down some plan or other. Besides, Matthew has other goals in his life than simply being a country farmer."

The Earl looks aghast and makes a mental note to have some private conversations with his heir over Christmas lunch.

Xx

 **December 24 1918**

"My God, Blake, you must be mad.", said the Viscount Grantham.

"I am not mad. I don't want a wife who is still hankering after some other fellow. I have some pride, you know.", responded Charles.

The two men are seated in the drawing room at Downton, having chosen to retire there after lunch. Charles has just finished telling Matthew of his plans to tour Ireland with Sybil in the New Year.

"Besides, I want Sybil to see Ballygoyne, get to know the area a little, be completely happy with being mistress of it all."

"Your cousin is still alive, she will have many years to get to know the place, why rush it while her feelings are still…fragile?"

"Refer point one. If she still prefers the other chap, then perhaps… I can help them somehow."

"You are mad. I will support whatever Sybil wishes to do, but I would not wish to lose you as a brother in law."

"Do you think it very likely?"

"I don't know, but you are taking a risk. Mary is going to give you a tongue-lashing when she hears."

"Mary seems quite distracted at the moment."

A squeal rings out, interrupting their conversation. They rush to the foyer, to find George standing by the Christmas tree laughing manically.

"What has happened, imp?" asks his father.

"Robbie stuck!"

Indeed, the heir to Locksley, trying out his mobility, has got himself stuck in the lower branches of the tree, and is now emitting a series of high pitched noises. A clatter of servants arrives, and a footman assists Matthew to extricate his nephew.

"Thank you, err, I'm so sorry what is your name? John. Thank you John. Will you please fetch Lady Strallan?"

"I'm here, I'm here. Oh Robbie darling why are you crying? You were stuck in the tree? Why were you stuck in the tree? Where's Nanny? Oh for heaven's sake."

"This is the second time these rogues have slipped away from Nanny. I think its best that she keep them in the night nursery, they can't quite navigate stairs yet. No, George, you are in trouble.", says Mary, who has come in with Edith.

"Oh don't scold them for being boys.", says Charles. He is almost flash frozen by the looks the sisters give him.

"We should have brought our Nanny, yours can't handle so many children on her own.", says Edith to Mary.

"Rubbish. She's just dragging. She has looked awfully tired, she should look after herself if she's caring for our children. Anyway I will get Barrow to handle the boys for the afternoon. Ah, John, will you fetch Mr. Barrow please?"

As they wait, Charles cannot help but think to himself how cold and forbidding the foyer looks without all the paraphernalia for the wounded soldiers. Even the Christmas decorations to not dispel the ghostliness of it all. A hand slips into his.

"I know, there was more life when the healing were here. Now all we have are the ghosts of those who went before."

"And your squealing nephews."

"Thank God for squealing nephews. Will you come? Mama and Papa want to speak to us about our trip to Ireland."

After they leave, two sharp sets of eyebrows turn on Matthew.

"Don't do that. I told him not to do it. Best go see if there's tea.", he stammers, trying to leave.

"You can't run far, Crawley, in fact you can't run at all. I will be speaking to you about this. Ah, Barrow, thank you. Do you suppose you can oversee these two rascals for a while? I think Nanny is at sea."

"Of course your Ladyship. In fact, Mrs. Hughes would like me to inform you that the maid who went to summon Nanny reports that she has been taken ill. I have taken the liberty of moving Miss Marigold and Miss Lillian to the upstair nursery, and Mr. Carson has asked Dr. Clarkson to go to Nanny."

The mothers have begun running upstairs halfway through his speech. You could say he had them at "taken ill.". There had been a deadly spike of influenza in late October through early November, and already there were reports of a much more fatal strain making its way through.

Several anxious minutes later, the children are pronounced well, but Nanny has a high fever and is taken directly to the hospital. "And should we send for your Nanny?", asks Matthew of Anthony as the family gathers for tea.

"Damn thing is, we gave her Christmas off. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes can look after the children?"

"At Christmas? Surely between all of us we can care for a few children. I brought Matthew up without any Nanny.", says Mrs. Clarkson, that blushing new bride.

"Ah, you see how much can be understood about Matthew in that one statement.", remarks the Dowager to a potted plant.

"Oh Granny. I think it's a delightful idea, if Mary agrees. Besides, it may be a good thing for us. Anthony and I are expecting a baby in July."

"Are you building an army, Sir Anthony?", asks the irrepressible Dowager.

"Well, too bad Edith, you'll have to share the adulation. Matthew and I are expecting a baby in June."

"Oh my dears how simply delightful! And not to tell us!", says Cora.

"We wanted to make it part of the Christmas toast!", said Mary and Edith together. The unexpected solidarity leaves them both reeling.

"Ugh.", said Mary, glaring at her sister.

"I can't be asked to plan my conception around your own family plans.", retorts Edith.

"If only you would. This is going to be terribly common, both of us being pregnant at the same time."

Under cover of the war of words between the sisters, the Earl says to his sons in law, "Back to regular feuding then. The war must certainly be over."

Xx

 **December 31 1918**

It is the night of the servant's ball. Mr. Bates sweeps his wife of several months around the room. Due to their employment, they only see each other on weekends when the Crawleys are up from London, and of course, on extended holidays like this on. It makes for a difficult but still exciting married life, as they always meet as lovers. The Earl and Isobel watch them as they dance and feel a deep happiness for this hard won love.

The initial hour of dancing is over and everyone is now coupled up with their significant other and the room – with no overhanging shadow of war- is full of that deep happiness that only hope can bring. As Matthew twirls Mary in a waltz, he notices the men who are there; so many of them old, so many of them with some form of injury.

"What is it, husband?"

"I am so grateful to your Papa for reaching out to the men coming back and offering them work in service."

"It was hard going. Some of our chaps who went away didn't want to come back to service. They all want to set up shops and things now."

"So a government scheme that gives out small grants would be a good idea?"

"Darling. This is a party, stop working. Besides, Edith and I plan to continue the vocational school. Except now it will be a proper school for anyone who wants to learn a trade, especially those who are injured. I've officially offered your mother the job of running the establishment."

"What a brilliant idea!"

"Goodness we had to, she had some mad plan of turning Downton into a health facility. Granny was apoplectic."

"And why was I kept in the dark about all of this?"

"Because you see need for government interference everywhere. Now now, kiss me, it's almost a new year!"

Our camera turns and captures the Strallans.

"A new year, a new baby, I'm so terribly happy darling!"

"I am too. Although you are right, I will be busy with another baby and the magazine and recruiting for the school."

"I have been thinking my love, and I think it is time I retired from some of my official posts. I could be more present on the estate, develop some plans for it, and perhaps help you a little more."

"Do you mean it, darling?"

"Why yes, I'm happiest when I am at home. Will you be bored by me?"

"I am increasingly delighted."

In the center of the room dance Sybil and Charles. They move well together, and Sybil feels the increasing dread of how comfortable and easy it is to be with her fiancé. _Am I wrong to keep thinking of Tom?_

"You seem preoccupied."

"I have to tell Mary something difficult and she may well shoot the messenger."

"Goodness what is it?"

"Her Nanny is three months pregnant. The father is Mary's gardener."

"Forgive me if this is indelicate, but how old is the Nanny?"

"Only thirty eight. She is an older primigravida, that's why she has been distracted and unwell. Dr. Clarkson is too scared to tell Mary."

"She will be an unwed mother, won't she? How can we help her?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Isobel will prevail on Mary and Matthew to keep her on, but if they don't – and Mary won't I know- then Isobel has promised to take her on."

"We should prevail upon the gardener to marry the poor woman."

"He is already a married father of three. I suppose it is the problem of people marrying young or hastily. They're likely to roam."

"Is that why you are making me wait?"

"You know why I'm making you wait. I want to be your wife completely, and honestly."

"I think you should go and see him when we go to Ireland."

"You trust me to do that?"

"We are of the same mind, you and I. To be married completely, and honestly."

" I hope you have a flaw, Mr. Blake."

"You will find that I have none at all, Lady Sybil."

And finally, Lord and Lady Grantham, moving with practiced ease in a little corner of the room.

"Do you suppose that the future is now settled?"

"You are always for settling Robert. Be happy in this moment."

"I am happy when I look at you."

"Now who sounds like an American!"

"Gracious me! I must be tired. Shall we to bed?"

And so to bed, and so the curtain closes on 1918. Let us, like Robert, turn our eyes to the future.


	49. Chapter 49

**January 15, 1919**

Lady Mary Crawley is seated with her tutor. You may have guessed by now, but, Mary is preparing to contest a seat in Parliament. Matthew will, automatically, have a seat in the House of Lords, but Mary has designs for the seat in Ripon. But, being one who hates imperfection and weakness in others, she abhors it in herself. Therefore, every day of the week she studies the law, the constitution and the history of the United Kingdom. She has written to various heads of organisations in Ripon and sought their view on the state of the county. She has also engaged a tutor to guide her. After the 1918 Act made it possible for women to stand for parliament, there have been an unprecedented number of women entering the political foray, and this has given Mary something of a network. She has elicited the advice of many British Conservatives who are pacifists, like her. Of course, Mary will contest as a Conservative. She is, after all, a member of the peerage.

Something else undergirds all this preparation. Mary regretted having rushed into activism the pacifist movement without being fully ready for all that it entailed. She was determined not to be defeated this time.

After her lesson is over, Mary sits quietly revising, her fine mind drawing up long-term plans, and considering how her knowledge and role in managing the Downton estate will assist her. Barrow comes in with a soft knock.

"Your Ladyship, Lady Sybil has just arrived. She has gone to the blue room to change."

"Thank you, Barrow. Could you have tea sent to the sitting room in a half hour? And perhaps some sandwiches? I am sure that Lady Sybil did not stop for luncheon."

"Certainly, your Ladyship. There are also some letters for you from the Dowager Countess."

"Letters, in the plural? Well you'd better include some gin on that tea tray, Barrow."

"Yes, your Ladyship. And just one more thing ma'am, I am afraid Master George threw some scrambled eggs at the under-maid, it may be time to start looking for a Nanny in earnest."

Mary rubbed her forehead. "Master George is at an interesting age. Very well, Barrow, can I trust you to begin the process? We can schedule interviews for next week. "

"Very good, your Ladyship."

Mary opens her letters.

 _Mary dear,_

 _I shall be direct. I cannot warn your parents of the risk of the Ireland trip without breaking your sister's confidence. She has refused to see me privately as I think she fears what I have to say. I did take the liberty of speaking to Charles and he informs me that they do plan to make a visit to see the chauffeur. It is up to you, my dear Mary, to ensure that Sybil goes in the correct frame of mind. It is your responsibility, as the future head of this family to instruct your sister in her duty._

 _The second letter addressed to you is one that I have written to the chauffeur myself. I believe you have his address._

 _On a final note, your previous employee has taken up work and residence in Crawley House. That is a scandal I may be able to contain, you are now responsible for any possible risk with Sybil. I know that, whatever you may say, you are cognizant of what duty to family requires. At the very least, you must spare your Mama and Papa from the heartbreak that will undoubtedly follow._

 _Affectionately,_

 _Granny._

"Hello, you.", says a breezy looking Sybil.

"Hello, you. I rather think you have Granny in a tizzy. _Don't_ look smug, it won't end well for you. Granny conquers all."

"Charles supports me."

"If you throw Charles away, I hope you do not do so lightly."

"Mary don't be sharp. I care for Charles so very much. I just care for Tom very much as well."

"Sybil, Granny wants me to chastise you, but all I can say is that I hope you will be sensible."

"I don't want to continue this. Who is coming to dinner tonight?"

"Henry Talbot, Charles, Perry Russell and his fiancée, and Allegra Scott."

"Allegra Scott? I haven't seen her since we debuted. What has she been up to?"

"She's a journalist, in Paris. Would you believe? She was serving as a medical volunteer, but started writing field reports in French and was offered a position with _Le Matin._ "

"How very glamourous and exciting! It should be a lively evening."

Xx

As Mary and Sybil relax over tea, Edith is standing tensely outside her bedroom door. Anthony has been running a fever all morning, and though he refused to see a doctor, the valet, noting some blood on the handkerchief had helped Edith to override these protests.

Dr. Clarkson emerges looking very grim.

"Lady Edith, I am afraid it looks like Spanish flu. I believe he has been ill for some days, and has neglected to share his suffering with you. The first thing I recommend is that you move into a separate bedroom. It will be impossible for you to nurse him in your condition."

Edith clutches the wall. "Will he survive?"

"Yes, if the fever breaks tonight. Will you allow me to send for Mrs. Clarkson? I think it would reassure you to have someone from the family to nurse Sir Anthony."

"You must learn to call us Edith and Anthony, Richard."

"Very well, then, as a proto-uncle, and as your doctor, I urge you to go and lie down, and have something warm. Isobel will be here within the hour. Until then, Barnaby is a very capable nurse."

Edith nods and sinks into a chair.

Isobel arrives promptly and tsking that Edith is still not in bed, ensures that she rests before going in to the patient. "Isobel, I am so scared."

"Why, my dear?"

"I don't have Mary's strength, or Sybil's. Anthony is the frame my whole life hangs on."

"Nonsense. You have the strength of a herd of oxen. If the worst happens, the whole family is here for you." And Isobel briskly runs off to the next bedroom where Anthony, feeling as if his body is on fire is shuddering and sweating.

Again, Edith dreams of a fire, and Anthony standing within it. The flames beat about his head, and in her dream she cries out and runs towards him. Her hands grasp his and she pulls and pulls until he is safe. She wakes in tears.

She cannot bear being in the next room, and shocking the footman who finds her there in the morning, drags her bedclothes to the corridor outside Anthony's room and sleeps there, hoping that by sheer willing it, he will be saved.

And that old adage is true, my friends, that weeping will do for the night but joy cometh in the morning.

A tired Isobel goes to Anthony's fretful wife as soon as it is possible. "Richard has cleared him, he will survive. But you must be aware my dear that Anthony is a man of middling age and this fever has affected his heart. You must prepare yourself to be vigilant, ensure that he has no shocks, and stays away from an unhealthy lifestyle."

"He had decided to retire from some of his work."

"That is commendable. Richard is speaking with him now, but I think it will be good for Anthony to take on as little as possible for the next two years at least."

A new year, a new baby, an old husband.


	50. Chapter 50

**This one goes out to all you who read and review. I've just eaten a mango. I wonder how this will affect my writing.**

 **February 15 1918**

Lady Mary Crawley to the Dowager Countess of Grantham

 _Darling Granny,_

 _Well, Sybil and Charles left this morning, with Mrs. Blake in tow for propriety's sake._

 _I managed to convince Sybil to take one of my maids along as I shudder to think of what Mrs. Blake would say about my darling sister's propensity to dress herself. At the very least, it will mean that Sybil will have an ally._

 _Now, I hope you don't get too cross, but I chose not to send Branson your letter. I, albeit reluctantly, agree with Matthew, that we have all interfered far too much with this whole business. Charles knows what he is doing, as does Sybil, so let the chips fall where they may. Matthew and I have decided that if Sybil makes the unwise choice, then we will force Branson to accept employment with us. Of course, we may be needlessly worrying. Matthew tells me that Branson continues to be adamant that life with Sybil is no longer an option for him._

 _Mama reports that Anthony is mending well, but that Edith continues to fret. Isobel says he is not dangerously ill but that his heart is weak and he must not exert himself for a while. I cannot understand why Edith is then so morose. He's not an invalid, he's not dying. Besides, did she not know how old he was when she married him? It's just like Edith to carp and wail. What would she have done if Anthony went to war? My husband will never walk unaided, Charles still has problems with his long term memory, and Sybil lost Branson entirely. I_ am _sorry Granny, but why must she act as if she is the only person to have ever had an afflicted spouse?_

 _Speaking of difficulty, although I am loathe to lose Charles as a brother- in-law, we must also make contingency plans. I have invited every single eligible female I can think of to dinner whenever he is here. He seemed to find Allegra Scott particularly captivating. You will remember her easily Granny, she's the youngest Dalkeith. She's quite the sparkling character, even Matthew's head was turned!_

 _As for that other delicate matter. I am grateful for what you and Isobel have tried to do with that wretched woman, but it really is prudent that we move her. Barrow's sister works for a seamstress and can find her some work. The story will be that she lost her husband in the war, soon after a furlough that left her pregnant. It's simple enough, I think. I have dismissed the gardener and hired a new one. Our new Nanny is a peacekeeping measure. Isobel, as you can imagine, is incensed with all of it so I have hired Anne Porter. Anne is a distant cousin of Matthew's on his mother's side. They have fallen into 'genteel poverty', but Anne is bright and fairly well educated so we are bringing her on as Nanny and Governess. She will have her hands full with George. He is a willful boy, and leaves maids weeping at his ability to destroy a room. I pray the child within me is a saint._

 _Matthew is just home and I must go to him._

 _With love, Mary._

Xx

County Tyrone, with is historic views and varied wildlife, feels like a dream to Sybil. She and Charles spend a happy week at Ballygoyne, roaming the estate all wrapped up in scarves and rubbers, gleefully battling wind and rain. Something wild in her soul kept dancing and she knew she could be happy here.

On their last day, Charles tells her that he has a surprise for her. He takes her to the very edge of the estate and points to a vast field overlooking a stream.

"I was struck by your observation that it was hard to reconcile us having all this empty land. There is no shortage of housing in the village, but the children are being forced to walk miles on foot or take a bus to school. Many just stop going altogether. We need a school here, and Stephen has agreed with me that we can- at our expense- build one. What do you think?"

"I think I like that much more than this ring you presented me with."

"That's my girl."

"Woman."

And so, in rather good spirits, they take their farewells and commence the long train journey down to Galway. By the third hour, Sybil grows tense and she keeps nervously fidgeting with the piece of paper that contains Tom's address. Charles, too has grown, quiet.

"Darling, do you remember when you asked if I had a flaw? Well, I must confess a mounting envy. I shall not easy while you are with Tom tomorrow."

"Then why on earth did you suggest it?"

"I need to know that in your heart it is all over."

Sybil has no reply, and they continue their journey in an uncomfortable silence.

When they reach Garbally House, the seat of the Earl of Calcarty, Sybil is grateful for the noise and hubbub of the large family. She is able to get through dinner without having to contribute much to the conversation, and has the maid, Meg, mix her some sleeping powders.

Xx

Tom had passed a rather good night. He rose early, and having several hour ahead of him before his shift began, used the morning for some light exercise and as much reading as he could bear. His mother had already gone to work, and so he had the little cottage all to himself. He settles comfortably in the warmth of the kitchen. After an hour or so, he has to put down his book as his head aches from the strain to just the one eye. He is just about to put the kettle on for tea when he hears a knock at the door.

"We aren't buyin'." He calls out.

The plummy tones of someone extremely posh reply. "Tom, it's Sybil. Do let me in."

He opens the door but does not gesture for her to enter.

"Hello, Tom."

"Lady Sybil."

"Might I come in?"

"If you must.". He shows her to a little seat by the fire. Sybil looks around at the little house. The kitchen, as kitchens generally are, is crowded and cosy. A little bed in the corner is stockpiled with books she recognizes as belonging to Tom.

"There's really just the one room, for mam. I sleep here." His tone is brusque, and a little ashamed.

"It's wonderful. Very charming."

"Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, I just had some breakfast."

"Where are you staying?"

"Garbally House. Not a place you would approve of."

He smiles a little at that and takes the chair opposite her.

"What brings you to Galway, Lady Sybil?"

"I'm going to ignore how formal you are being. Well, we were visiting Ballygoyne, the estate that Captain Blake is to inherit, and I rather thought I would like to see you."

"It's very kind of you to do so. Your family is well?"

"Yes, very well. The war is over, which makes everything generally good. Edith and Mary are both expecting. Matthew is recovered, and working in Whitehall."

"I am glad to hear it."

"You look much better than when I saw you last."

"Yes, I am much better now. Still just the one eye, though. When do you return to England?"

"In two days time. I'm beginning my training as a psychiatric nurse."

"That is also good to hear."

"Tom, I would rather our conversation wasn't so stilted. I am here with some purpose."

"I hope it isn't a wedding invitation."

"It is not, although you would be very welcome. I came to tell you that I still love you. I always will love you."

She says it so quickly, so matter of factly. He responds with a brooding silence. She waits.

"I don't understand the point of you making such a declaration. I have made my position very clear. And you, are engaged to another man."

"I have come here to ask, once and for all, if you still love me Tom. Charles understands that this is something I have to do."

"My feelings for you are the same as they always were."

"Then why can't we be together?"

"It's impossible. There is very little work that I can do, if you only knew how hard it is to finish a book sometimes. Besides, I have thrown my lot in with the Irish Republicans, Sinn Fein may be in parliament but the struggle is only beginning."

"And do you not think I would fight right alongside you?"

"You would fight out of sympathy. A struggle needs real anger."

"I would fight because I believe in you."

"This is bigger than just me and you."

"You seem to have every excuse! First it is your injury, now it is politics! What will it be next, religion?"

"All the things I have told you are true. While I may be handicapped, I still have my voice and I am useful for mobilizing for the movement. There is no room for a wife and family when you have a commitment to a cause, when you are actively committed. You cannot know what it meant to me to have fought on the side of a monarchy that oppressed my people for so long, and to have come back wounded. When I had never been wounded in the struggle for Home Rule! There is so much you cannot understand because of your privilege! When Matthew was wounded, even if he had been crippled for life, it would not have mattered, his future is sure. Men like me, have nothing, can achieve nothing. That is the systemic injustice that your class has condemned us to, and I…"

"I never thought you placed me with my class! When did you begin to sound like such a radical?"

"I was always a radical. I was so bamboozled by you I neutralized myself."

"This is not you. What happened to education as the slow revolution? Why not align yourself to people like Matthew and Charles who wish to work within government for change?"

"Everything is too slow now. I am too aware of the destitution that the war exposed, conditions that I had turned myself away from during my time at Downton."

"So…violence?"

"Not violence. But I am taking the message to the streets. There is no place for family life. Blake is a gentleman with time on his hands. Let him be your husband."

"And so I am supposed to just do what you say? How self-consumed you are!"

"And how obstinate you are! Go, go to Blake and engage in some charity work. Charity helps you to keep from doing the real work of justice, and I am sure it keeps your guilt at bay."

"This is monstrous. How can you be so wretched?"

He looks hurt. "What can you expect when you barge in on me like this? You are not wanted here, I have moved on with my life, and that ring on your finger indicates that you have, too! Our chapter is over. I have told you!"

"I think I get a say in this and I'm not ready for it to be completely over. My heart is broken."

"Hearts mend."

There is a long, painful silence.

"Very well, I wish you all the happiness in the world, Mr. Branson."

She stands up to go. He puts a hand out and places it on her waist. "My heart is broken, too, Sybil, but we cannot be."

She thinks for a minute. Then, with determination, she closes the gap between them. "If this is goodbye, let it be a proper goodbye." She kisses him with ferocious passion.

A few minutes later, the books on his bed have toppled to the floor, and lie in a jumble with the yellow silk of Sybil's dress. On the bed, the lovers pour into each other all the passion, fury and sorrow that have been held back these past several months.

After, Sybil feels transformed, free, alive. He takes her hand, kisses it and says, "I think you should go now, love."

"Yes. Goodbye, Tom."

"Goodbye, love."

Later that night, after dinner, Sybil tells Charles that it is time they set a wedding date. She mentions that she always thought April was a lovely time to get married. He responds that two months might not quite be enough time, so they settle for July, during her two week break from training school. Letters are sent out that night to each set of parents, asking them to set the wedding wheels in motion.


	51. Chapter 51

**I am so deeply grateful to those of you who read and review this story. S/T are endgame, but it won't be straightforward. I hope that that's okay. I wrote Charles in a way that made me fall in love with him too, so I have to deal with him fairly as well, yes?**

 **April 1919**

Mr. Moseley, senior, has died. He had a rousing evening listening to the undergardeners singing "Pack up your Troubles in your old Kit Bag" in a round. He settled in for a lovely dinner, well supplanted by some choice asides from the kitchen. The cook at Locksley was deeply fond of the old man, and often sent round some roast veg or a nice piece of cured pork for the Moseley's supper. Gardeners and chauffeurs do not traditionally eat with the servants. After dinner, the two Moseley men treated themselves to a thimbleful of brandy from their special stores, and passed the moments till bed time reading in companiable silence. In the morning, when Moseley the younger went to wake his father, he found the old gentleman seemingly asleep, with a soft smile on his face. But oh, so still. He sat for a moment, shed a small tear, and went to call the doctor.

The news of the senior Moseley's death has a profound effect. Well known and loved in the village, the little cottage at the end of the gardens at Locksley becomes almost a kind of shrine, with many from the estate making a pilgrimage of condolence. Even the Dowager, bringing along armfuls of roses from her garden ( for she is not above point making even at the time of grief), stops by with her sympathies. It is also a strange thing for people so used to mourning young death, to finally be able to stop and remember a life well lived. The funeral has a softness, a sweetness. As the coffin is lowered into the ground, Moseley heard a mad little trill from a nearby bird and felt happy that his Dad was somewhere in 'the good place.'

"Shall we walk you to the hall, Mr. Moseley?", asks Anna Bates coming up alongside him.

"No that's quite alright. I should go and thank Sir Anthony and Lady Edith before I go."

"I'm afraid they've already left. Lady Edith was none too happy about Sir Anthony being outside all this while, even though the weather is warmer. Lady Mary can hardly stop herself from rolling her eyes, and I don't much blame her."

"We mustn't be too snarky about it, Anna. If it were me, you'd have me in bed covered in blankets until the day I died.", laughed Mr. Bates

"Well, now I get to walk to the hall with both of you. I must thank the family for arranging the funeral.", said Mr. Moseley, thinking he needed to keep the peace.

"As well they should, you've served them well, man and boy.", said Mr. Bates.

"They may not thank me for what's to come. I've been thinking that the time is right for me to leave service."

"What do you mean, leave service?", asked Anna. For both her and her husband, the prospect still seemed so far away.

"Mrs. Clarkson has offered me a full time teaching post. I turned it down because Dad was so happy at Locksley, but now I can move. And I think I want to."

"I think it's marvelous, Mr. Moseley. But how do you suppose the family will react?" wondered Mr. Bates.

The family reacted predictably. Mary wondered why Isobel hadn't thought to check in with her about new hires, but agreed that it was a good, practical choice. Then, she snickered mildly at the inconvenience it would cause Edith, until the baby in her womb kicked her reprovingly. Sybil and Matthew were both just chuffed at another victory for the common man. The Dowager rolled her eyes at them and mildly suggested that the staff at Locksley were at their leisure to leave since the house would soon be staffed by all those Strallan children. The Earl and Countess of Grantham hoped fearfully that it would not mean an exodus of staff seeking places outside service.

Edith was a little upset, and wondered briefly if Mary had put her mother-in-law up to it just to make Edith's life more inconvenient. Her irritation was quelled by Anthony, who seemed genuinely delighted for Mr. Moseley. They gave him their assent and various assurances of assistance for his move. After Moseley left the room, Anthony turned to his wife,

"The doctor has recommended gardening as excellent therapy for me. Surely, with the undergardener to help me, I could take over the role from Moseley."

At which point, weak heart or no, Lady Edith almost upended the pot of tea on her husband's head.

"Are you a madman, Anthony Strallan?"

"You can't wrap me up in a bandbox for the rest of my life, Edith!"

"If it means prolonging your life, then yes I will." Sighing loudly, Edith turned back to stirring her tea.

Sighing equally loudly, Anthony tried to figure out which emotion he felt in greater degree; irritation at her coddling or deep affection at how very much she needed him. He then sighed softly, suddenly reminded of the terrible gap of years between them, and the sure knowledge that he would likely not be Edith's only husband.

Xx

"Are you shocked?", asked Lady Sybil of Lady Mary.

"Why would I be shocked? Perturbed, yes, but not shocked. Have you made sure that there will be no unwanted epilogue?"

"I was prepared."

"Well now I _am_ shocked."

"I am a nurse, Mary. I know about these things."

"Of course darling. I am shocked that you went with intent to be in flagrante. Had you and Branson previously indulged?"

"No. I just felt a determination that he should be the one to know me before… anyone else."

"It is not a kind thing to have done to Charles, but I suppose he'll never know. Why did you do it?"

"Because now, I'll always belong to Tom, and him to me. Now I can marry Charles knowing I married Tom first."

Mary rubbed her magnificent eyebrows.

"Well my darling, all I can hope is that marriage will cure you of such melodramatic sentimentality."

"Will you keep my secret, Mary?"

"Do I have permission to tell you that you have behaved idiotically and that you have betrayed Charles' trust in you?"

"Charles only sent me so that I would come to him with the chapter closed. He hasn't been completely altruistic."

"This is hardly the time for moral relativism! Accept your mistake."

"Would you?"

" _I_ don't make mistakes."

"Oh, Mary." The tone was almost a rebuke. Sybil, who is utterly good-natured would never ever be too harsh with her sisters. But the tone is enough to make Mary desist.

"Very well, I shall be as silent as the grave. But you must promise me that the Branson chapter is at an end."

"Yes, it has to be."

Later that evening, Mary does divulge a portion of the conversation with her husband.

"So Branson has thrown his lot in with Irish Republicans has he? Well that is certainly the end of things for him and Sybil. Even I cannot support her becoming a part of all that.", he said worriedly.

"I think, though, it would be good if we could keep an eye on him. For Sybil's sake?"

"Why , Lady Mary, you do have a heart!"

"Matthew don't be odious. Will you assign someone?"

"Yes, I rather think it prudent."

Mary settled herself into bed, an increasingly difficult task as her pregnancy weighed quite heavily upon her now. She sighed softly.

"What is it?"

"Darling Sybil. She's always had that combination of strong will and strong heart. When we were younger, we found a poor, wounded rabbit on the grounds. Nanny insisted that she leave it with the gardeners for care but Sybil was so determined that she be the one to care for it, that she convinced Edith and I to help her sneak it into a guest bedroom. She tended to that thing for two whole weeks until it was well. She's lucky Mrs. Hughes made vegetables and milk mysteriously available in the kitchen, and that she never gave Sybil away!. Edith and I would have not taken the trouble but for Sybil everything is love, _and_ everything is duty. Charles and Tom are symbolic of both these things, in their own way. No wonder she is torn."

"Very well put my dearest. Perfectly put, in fact. Now are you not lucky that there was only ever one blazing romantic hero in front of you?"

"Does it strike you that I am in a mood to be humorous? I shall be cross."

"How terrible, then, that cross Mary is one of my favourite Marys. _I loved and guessed at you, you construed me._ "

At which Lady Mary laughed hysterically at her husband.

Xx

 **May 1919**

Charles Blake is greatly perturbed. He has in his hand a letter from a friend serving out in New Delhi of an atrocious event in Amritsar, one that will be known in history as the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. By 1920, Winston Churchill would condemn it as one of the worst chapters in the history of British India, but already the furore in India is incandescent, and a famous Bengali poet has returned his knighthood.

"I say, Crawley,", he says to the man seated in the desk next to him, " you must read this. I wonder why we haven't heard more of it from the India secretariat."

"Hmm,", said Matthew perusing the letter, " Well we know something happened, just not the extent of it. This is appalling. Can it be true?"

"Why would Clow lie to me? Poor chap seems quite traumatized. He's deeply devout, you know."

"I dare say the soldiers and the general involved were also devout, and see this as part of their duty."

"Such duty must be damned."

"Don't be too radical, old boy."

Charles shook his head. "Damn my memory! There is a fragment of something here, something similar. Is it from a letter? Did I hear it from someone?"

Matthew has an orderly bring Charles a bracing cup of tea, but the latter remains in a blue funk all day. Suddenly, at around four p.m, he starts from his chair and frantically scribbles of a letter. Matthew closes up his desk and says, "Done, I think, for the day. Shall we go? Come on, let's go home for a quick snifter. You can stay to dinner. Mary's too exhausted to fight if you aren't dressed properly."

But Charles continues to be erratic and distracted as they walk out of Whitehall and make the car journey home. Barrow, greeting them at the door whispers to Anna later that Lady Mary was frothing at how 'Italian' Mr. Blake was behaving all night. Sybil is on a night shift, and there was no one there to calm Charles down. On his way out, he almost knocks flat Nanny, herself just returning from her half day. "Sorry, sorry, sorry", mutters Charles, striding away. Barrow helps Nanny Porter to her feet, and, with that uncanny ability that he has, sees the quick flash of unrequited affection that colours that young lady's face as she gazes after the heir to Ballygoyne.

It must be said that Barrow, as the butler, and therefore Lord of all that is surveyed at Montrose Place, has caught enough of whispered conversations and dramatic tableau to know that Lady Sybil's heart is split in twain.

But, having developed a great loyalty for Matthew and Mary , he does not speak out on these things, but gathers them to his heart, and dwells on them. Of course, Barrow will always be a man of – shall we say- caution and sometimes he collects information as insurance. For that rainy day, you know.

Xx

 **The poem Matthew quotes is Rosetti's "I loved you first: but afterwards your love."**


	52. Chapter 52

**This one goes out to all of you. You know who you are.**

 **June 1919**

The Dowager is seated in the library at Downton, cheerily sipping at a glass of sherry. She shakes her cane irritatedly at her son, who, for the past few hours, has been nervously pacing the floor. Two floors above him, Mary is in agonies of pain. Her labour had come a little earlier than expected, precipitated by a rather rigorous walk through the estate that she had insisted on being a part of that morning. The younger Crawleys had all decamped to Downton for the beginning of the summer, as Mary and Matthew had agreed that, from July through September, they would assist with matters of the estate. This also allowed them (well, Matthew), to pick and choose which events of the London season they attended.

No one expected Mary to join the others on their tour, but then Mary thrives on unpredictability. However, let me say, dear reader, that she deeply regretted this need in her at this very moment. Additionally, while Mary would never swear that there was a God, she jolly well hoped that he existed. Matthew, being unable to bear the moans he could hear in the bedroom, had kept bursting in at intervals. Eventually, he was frogmarched to the car and despatched to the pub, with the Countess promising all manner of revenge upon him if he returned before he was sent for. Mr. Bates was sent with him, a grim, if kindly, bodyguard. Mr. Barrow went, too, and, as Matthew was not much for speaking, you could say that all three gentlemen passed the next three hours in their own comparative hells.

The Dowager decides that Robert, too, is particularly annoying and sends him to the music room with a decanter of whisky. Being the kind of English laird who listens to everything his mother says, he despairingly does so.

Two more hours go by. Then silence. A long silence. Cora, waiting outside the bedroom, knocks and goes softly in. In the doctor's arms is a baby, and he and the nurse are urgently ministering to it.

Mary, clutching her mother-in-law's hands is sobbing, "Oh God, is it dead? Oh where is Matthew, oh my dear."

Dr Clarkson sits quietly in a chair. He massages the baby's windpipe, all the while tapping the baby softly on his leg. Suddenly a clearing sound, and a little whimper is heard. It is not the lusty yelling that heralded his brother George's entry into the world, but it is a signal of life.

"I think it's time for Matthew to see his new son, Cora.", says the Doctor nodding in a satisfied way. Cora smiles, but before she leaves the room, goes to the doctor and whispers something that makes the man blush with pleasure.

"Congratulations on your new grandson."

The baby is named Reginald Richard Crawley, much to the annoyance of the Dowager, who had hoped the child would bear her husband's name. But Matthew is resolute, and, as he smiles down at his second child, he feels deeply grateful for the man who oversaw the birth. Little Reg will always be a little on the delicate side, a little shy and retiring, but his compassionate heart and artistic soul will endear him to his father in a very special way.

But Mary is still very weak, and she and the baby are ordered to several weeks of rest and recuperation. Dr. Clarkson, frowning a little at Mary's slender frame, says to Matthew, "No more children, I think, Matthew. Your wife won't come through another one."

Xx

Hot on the heels of a Crawley comes a Strallan. Patrick Anthony Strallan, named for his father and maternal great grandfather, and also the first man to steal his mother's heart, is three weeks premature. The early birth is brought on, in part, says the doctor, by the heightened state of anxiety that Edith has been existing in since Anthony fell ill. Patrick slips quickly and quietly into the world, a generous hearted boy with an exceptional mind. He is a bonny child, and had he been carried to term, may well have been the largest of all the Crawley grandchildren. He and Reginald, much to the surprise of their mothers, will share a bond almost as if they were twins. Indeed, during their teenage years, the villagers will come to refer to the pair as "them Crawley twins."

After Patrick has been cleaned and presented to his Papa, and put to bed, the Doctor asks for a quiet word with Edith. He sits, fatherly like, on the chair by her bed.

"How are you feeling, Edith?"

"I am well, just a little tired."

"My dear, may I speak to you? As a proto-uncle?"

"Of course you may. Is it Anthony? Was the whole event too stressful for him?"

"It is not Anthony. It is you. You have worried yourself beyond a point where it is healthy for you to do so. Anthony is recovering well and quickly. He doesn't push himself too far, in fact, I'd like him to be a little more active than he is. It is you that concerns me, as your doctor and as your friend."

"Shouldn't I worry for him, care for him?"

"Certainly, certainly, but I believe my dear that it is too much. What troubles you so?"

"What will happen to me if the worst…?"

"You will survive my dear. All three of you Crawley girls are fighters, look at what you have accomplished. Look at what you continue to do. You must go back to your magazine, to your writing, to the estate."

"I am only able to do it because Anthony is by my side. I am not like Mary and Sybil."

"Nonsense. I dare say Anthony was only the catalyst in your case. The spark to the flame. Besides, it will not do for the children to have two invalided parents. Will you try?"

Edith just looks down and picks at the embroidery on the coverlet.

"During the war, you wrote once about how the war transforms, and emboldens, how women must find reserves of strength as the lead the fight for their country. This is your little country, your nation, you are it's General. Patrick is the first casualty of war, for he will take time to come to full health. Do you see?"

"Yes, I see."

I should add, because I am your slightly gleeful narrator, would like to note that with the births arriving as they do, there is a period of about a week during which time both Edith and Mary are consigned to bed rest (albeit separately, and in different homes). The shared fate of the sisters causes much suppressed amusement amongst the family and various staff, especially as neither is keen to share the spotlight. Even Cora, concerned mother, who had to spend a few days shuttling between the two estates, watched Robert shaking with laughter and pronounced him as "dreadful", before succumbing to her own giggles.

But if you ask any of them, they would swear it was a most serious time, a most serious time in deed.


	53. Chapter 53

**I ask only that you trust that I see this story to where I need it to go.**

July 12th 1919

A click is heard in the lock and a whispered "Come on then, men, come on!." The huddled prisoners leave without stopping to think and the group of them are shunted down an alleyway. They reach an open field and run for their lives to the truck waiting at the end. One of the newly liberated sinks gratefully down and takes a thermos of tea from one of his rescuers. He nods his thanks.

"No worries, friend.", says Tom, "early for a run, ain't it?"

"Good to be out. Wish I were going home, there's nowhere a man likes to be than his own bed."

"Aye."

Tom settles himself by his new friend and raises his eyes to watch the morning break across the skies.

Xx

Several hours later, as the sun's warmth intensifies into a cloudless day, Sybil steps out of a hot bath and submits to the expert hands of Anna and Miss O'Brien as they drape her in lace and silk, perfume her with rose oil, and guide her dark tresses into a soft bun, securing it with a wreath of sapphires.

"Oh my child, you are a picture! My prettiest girl! But what shall we do about your hands?", exclaims her Mama, noticing the work roughened skin on Sybil's hands, "O'Brien, fetch my lavender night cream for Lady Sybil won't you."

"Mama, I work for a living, these are the hands of a nurse. Besides, Charles won't mind."

"He will tonight.", observes Mary drily, coming in with Edith .

"Mary, don't be vulgar!"

"She can't help herself, Mama. Papa is asking for you, something about the seating."

In a flutter and a fluster, the Countess leaves, taking Anna with her.

"Couldn't you have stayed away from the carbolic soap just for the week? Your poor husband.", said Mary, who, flush from recovery, is awash with wit and the need to expend it.

"Mary, you must be quiet. Sybil is probably quite nervous about tonight as it is.", chides Edith.

Mary snorts. Sybil raises warning eyebrows.

"What is it that I'm missing?" asks Edith who has seen the eyebrows.

"Only common sense. All I mean is that Sybil is a nurse. She likely has a very clinical and…thorough understanding of the proceedings."

"I feel there is something more, but I shan't push you to tell me. But Sybil, darling, if you are worried, you mustn't be. And don't worry if it's not wonderful the first time around, it can take a couple a while to…get to know each other."

 _Is that why you and Anthony spend so much time perfecting the art?_ , thinks Mary. By the grace of the Goddess of Harmony, she does not speak that sentence out loud. I say grace, but I really mean that she had to drop-kick the Deities of Discord and knee the God of War in the unmentionables. Then she sat down and had a cold gin, glaring all the while at Mary's guardian angel, who shrugged and went back to his bag of wine. Well, if you were Mary's guardian angel, I'd say you would have a drinking problem too, wouldn't you?

Let us return to the room, where further conversation is disrupted by Anna and Miss O'Brien arriving with veils and creams. The Dowager comes in for last checks, and the whole party soon departs for the church. As it is the beginning of the season, they are in London, and the marriage is to take place in a crumbly old church that Charles particularly loves.

Are you surprised that Sybil is marrying Charles? To be honest, so is she. The las few months have been so busy- for both her and Charles- that the wedding day itself came upon them unexpectedly. Sybil has been training so intensely that she has not allowed herself to think about the choices that she has made. When she finishes her shift, she is so tired that she falls into a sweet, dreamless sleep. From time to time, though, she remembers that one brief hour she spent with Tom. His hands exploring every part of her, the way her skin yielded to him, the way his eyes burned when their bodies reached climax. She knew she belonged to Tom in a way that she would not belong to anyone else.

When she arrives at the church, she wanders down the aisle in a daze, her eyes fixated on the shimmering white of the altar cloth. As she and Robert stop, she turns to Charles hesitantly. Charles, who has been in his own reverie, turns to her on Matthew's prodding and sees suddenly startled to be standing beside her, in a church, and in his morning suit. He half laughs, half smiles to see her and the expression on his face sends her into giggles. She is suddenly flooded with relief that even though she is not marrying her lover, she is at least marrying her best friend. The ceremony itself is very carefree and informal. Sybil and Charles had intentionally asked that only their families and close friends be present.

The reception later is more formal, and Sybil feels almost able to hide away amongst the crowd. Charles , too, seems distracted.

"Darling, do you suppose we could just slip away?", he asks after they have cut the cake.

"I think I would really prefer that."

They send word through Carson, who speedily arranges for the car to be brought round, so that, with a wink and a nod to the Viscount Grantham and Lady Mary, the newly weds are able to flee their own reception. "Thank God for you, Sybil.", says Charles as the car speeds them away to their Scottish honeymoon.

The car and train to Stonehaven leave them exhausted and the only energy they have is expended on undressing and climbing into bed. Yet, Sybil feels the need to hold on to Charles' hand as she falls asleep. She feels so surreal, so unfixed. His presence is like an anchor.

She wakes to find him standing by the window, looking out to the bright, wide sea by their little cottage.

"Charles?", she whispers, sitting up against the pillows. "Are you well?"

"I am, darling, of course I am." He walks slowly back to the bed and sits next to her, kissing her cheek through her hair. He stops to just rest his head against hers.

"Come to bed, Charles.", she says, needing to rid herself of the thought of Tom.

"Sybil…". He seems unable to respond. So she draws herself upon on her knees, kissing him gently and stroking his chest. He moans loudly and pulls her to him and they fall upon each other with displaced passion, each needing the physicality of the moment to distract their in-dwelling fears and unnecessary thoughts. After, they lie together, spent, happy, sleepy. "Might we take the luxury of a long sleep, Lady Blake?"

"I think we might, Mr. Blake, I think we might."

Xx

The morning after Sybil's wedding, Tom stands staring out to sea. He lights a cigarette and smokes it slowly. "Ready then, Tom?", asks a voice behind him.

"Ready, sir.", he responds, stubbing out his cigarette.

For Tom, the revolution is yet to be realised.


	54. Chapter 54

December 31, 1919.

 **(Interior, the Dower House, tea time.)**

"Why does that husband of yours insist on holding the baby every chance he gets?", asked the Dowager with consternation.

Mary, looking askance at the lemon in her tea, shakes her head. "I don't know, Granny. I suppose it's because Reggie has always been a little weaker than George. You know how Matthew is."

"Still, it's very unhealthy. A father who isn't seen as firm will encourage the boy to develop a feeble personality."

"Oh don't be silly Granny."

"Matthew spends far too much time with the children."

"It is the way he was brought up, his parents were very involved. It's not an argument I will win."

"What utter nonsense. Isobel was not raising a future Earl. You are the mother. George and Reggie are the future of Downtown. Their character must be taken in hand."

"Well I assure you that Nanny Porter has the boys firmly in hand. George has improved dramatically. I no longer have reports of eggs thrown at maids."

"Are you spending enough time with your children?"

"Oh Granny, how can you be so contrary? You can't abide Matthew spending time with the children, but I do not spend enough time with them. I see them, for an hour, at tea time."

"But I understand that there are many times when you are not in the house at tea time. What is it that calls my grand daughter away from her house? I hope you aren't indulging in a lover. That sort of thing should be saved for the later years of your marriage."

Mary's eyebrows ascended into the stratosphere.

"To save you from making any more such alarming statements, let me tell you that I am spending my time studying and working with Lord Bryce and his associates. They are taking forward their ideas for a formal peace league, and I have been …doing what is necessary so that I may play a valid part. Please don't tell Matthew or Papa. They will fret and forbid."

"Lord Bryce? He's not a natural peer. Isn't he the fellow who thinks that the Americans should be our friends? Of all the laughable ideas."

"Mama _is_ an American."

"In-laws aren't friends, dear. Marriage is a contract, not a day at the seaside."

"Granny, you make me weary. But I suppose I should tell you that I have joined the Liberal Party and intend, in the near future, to contest as the Member for Ripon."

The Dowager is stunned into something of an hour of silence.

 **(Interior, Downton Abbey library, post tea time)**

"Hello my darlings!", cries Cora gathering up the Strallan children into an embrace, " come, Granny has saved some special things from tea for you. I had to guard them from Georgie as you were so late.". Cora throws a pointed look at the elder Strallans.

"I am sorry Mama, but there were some final proofs for the magazine that had to be finished."

"But it's the New Year, Edith. You shouldn't be working. And _you_ shouldn't let her work."

Anthony smiles sheepishly and goes over to Matthew and Robert who have stayed to greet him.

"Come along, Anthony. I was just telling Matthew that I've opened up some items belonging to the 3rd Earl, and there are some letters I've never seen before. Carson has laid them out in my study, shall we adjourn?"

"Intriguing. I wonder if I might have a cup of tea to fortify me? The drive was blasted cold."

"What about a snifter, eh? Last day of the year and all that. Good man, good man. Carson, three brandies to the study, and send someone to seek out . I believe he and Lady Sybil retired to the conservatory with their tea."

"Certainly, my Lord." Carson commanded the footmen with his imperious eyebrows and butlered off to fetch the brandy.

"Where is Mary?", asked Edith after the gentlemen had retired.

"Granny asked her to tea. No doubt some admonition or other. Oh yes thank you Nanny, and will you take charge of the others as well? Lady Strallan has not brought her Nanny today."

"Nanny asked for a day off."

"On December 31st? How rude."

"She has a family commitment and Anthony insists that we keep the staff happy. Besides, she's a wonder at looking after the children."

"I love that you and Anthony have a big family. You know Mary cannot have any more."

"I dare say that probably suits Mary very well."

"Let's not spend our time speaking of Mary. How are you my dear? You looked very wan at Christmastime."

"Oh, I am just very busy Mama. The magazine is thriving, I have so many ladies who want to write for it, and we just hired two new girls for the illustrations. Allegra Scott wrote to me to say how delightful and distracting she finds it. Her endorsement has sent my subscriptions through the roof."

"Darling that is wonderful. And does it help with Anthony?"

"Yes, yes. He enjoys the quiet life but loves to see me busy."

"I think you are the happiest of my daughters."

 **(Interior, the conservatory, same time.)**

"India?", said Lady Sybil Blake.

"Yes, India. But not for nine months. It can't be a surprise, darling, I have been speaking of my wish to be part of a better British service there. There are so many poor and disenfranchised. It will be a real project for us."

"Darling, my life is here. My work. And, our future." Sybil gestured idly to her belly, as yet not revealing her pregnancy of two months.

"Little Blake will be two months old when we have to leave. Neither would you have to come when I do. You could wait till you felt it was right for both of you. But think, my darling, of how the hospitals there could use a nurse of your training and distinction! My friend says that the hospitals are crowded with the underprivileged."

"And your friend is convinced that I won't be treated like some great Lady nurse and have to take care of the rich woman diseases of the wives of CSOs?"

"Darling I cannot imagine a world in which you would allow yourself to be a lady nurse. I'd sooner imagine your grandmother taking work as a charwoman."

"Well Charles Blake, you certainly know how to convince me. But I ask for one condition."

"I acquiesce even without knowing the condition!"

"Don't be foolish, Charles, hear me out. It is this: that little Blake and I follow you once he or she is an year old. It will also give me time to find the right position for myself in India, and for you to set up house, and hire the right staff."

Charles answered with a sweet, soft kiss. A gentle cough disturbed them.

"Mr. Blake, His Lordship asks that you join him in his study." Carson looks with disapprobation at canoodling in the conservatory, and Charles leaps up, shamefaced like a schoolboy.

After Charles leaves, Sybil stands and paces for a while. She places her hands on her womb and smiles. _India. A whole new world._

 **(interior, the dining room, 11.59 pm.)**

"Happy New Year!" cries the Earl of Grantham.

"Happy New Year!", the rest raise their glasses in a toast.

"And a new baby!", announces Charles Blake, grinning madly under the influence of many, many wines.

Cora tears up, and the Dowager and Mary sigh with relief. Only Matthew casts a worried glance at Sybil. He raises his eyebrows at her, but she shakes her head and smiles brilliantly.

Matthew raises his glass. "To Charles, Sybil, and baby Blake!".


	55. Chapter 55

**Sorry for the major delay folks, but here is Chapter 55. I posted 54 earlier today, so don't forget to check it out. And greetings from Sri Lanka where I am undertaking extensive fieldwork.**

 **March 1920.**

Oh the roaring twenties. Those few brief years before the world again fell apart. The age of the Bright Young Thing, of hedonistic pursuit, of the independent woman, the flapper, truly the Age of the Socialite. For Matthew Crawley, still adjusting to his wife's new association with the League of Nations, it was a time of some emotion. Although, it must be said, that the fire in her these days had also set fire (wink, wink) to the Crawley's marital bed. So, a time of _very_ confusing emotion for Matthew Crawley.

Walking into his office that morning, Matthew experiences another wave of confusing emotion as Charles Blake awaits him, reclining gently against the desk. Having spent a lot of time in the new year prodding Sybil about her motives for agreeing to India, he approves that a displacement would allow the Blakes a chance to build the foundations of their marriage. And yet, Matthew is sad to lose the company of his sister and his best friend.

"I have not read the documents you sent me yesterday, Charles, so you best hurry back to your little corner", said Matthew, easing into his chair and laying his walking stick gently by his side.

"Now, now. I am not here to press you, but to ask you to luncheon. Rumour has it that you are tipped to be part of some new administrative effort, and I only seek to uncover the truth."

"The truth is yes, but my lips are sealed. No matter how fine a luncheon you propose."

"Ah, but to woo a champion of the people, I would not proffer epicurean delights, but humble pie and mash, followed by a steady pint at the local pub."

"Don't tell Mary, but I have to say that does sound smashing. And, why, sir, are you not lunching with your good wife? I thought you always met for luncheon."

"Sybil is attending the unveiling of a memorial for Edith Cavell, so I am adrift. Also, our father in law is coming in this afternoon to speak with Sir Findlay, and I rather think it prudent that I am not here to incite his wrath."

"Goodness, yes I forgot about Robert's appointment. Well, any man would be concerned at some jackanape whisking his daughter off to darkest India. Mary said Cousin Violet has been telephoning Sybil daily to warn her about the strange carnal habits of foreigners."

"And I have been trying not to wonder how the Dowager has such information."

There is a knock on the door, and Matthew's secretary comes in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Crawley, but there has been a telegram."

"Thank you Lodge." Matthew puckers his lips and opens the telegram whilst Charles looks on silently. They are not the sort of men who leap with excitement at every urgent message.

Matthew finishes reading the paper and slams his hand down on his desk. "The idiot!", he exclaims, handing the missive over to Charles.

"Branson arrested, stop. Send word as to next steps, stop. Are you keeping watch over the man?"

"Yes, not just for Sybil's sake, but because he was a good friend to me during the war. I don't know if I can do anything for him now, I have no sway with the Home Office. Robert does, but he has no connection."

"What would Branson have done to find himself in this position?"

"He is involved…heavily involved…with the Irish Republicans."

"He _is_ an idiot. There are political ways to solve that problem, and those ways are underway. Damn foolish thing to take up arms."

"As a future peer of Ireland, is there anything you could do?"

"Yes, plenty. But you must think I am some kind of saint, to bail out my love rival."

"No, I think you are a good man. A good man who will help another good man, who had to sense to keep his distance from Sybil once he knew that his future would be a violent one."

Charles rubbed his face wearily. "And after he is free? What then? Bring him home with me?"

"Help him go home. You are under no obligation to care for him after he is released."

"You cannot tell Sybil. Or Mary."

"I can keep a secret from your wife, but not from mine. All Mary has to do is ask me why I paused when cutting my meat."

Charles laughed a little. Then he stood up to go. Matthew watched him for a few minutes, and then called out to him. Slowly, he rose and walked haltingly to his friend.

"Sybil knows that I look out for Tom. I told her that I wished to and that I would. She has never asked me about him, or asked for any news but I think she takes comfort in my role as guardian angel. She may well read his name in the newspaper on a list of those arrested, it may be prudent for you to allay her fears."

"No, I cannot tell her that I had a hand in it. Once he is free, you should be the one to tell her, then. It is better for Sybil to think that I live in ignorance. Luncheon at one?", and with this, Charles hurries away. He feels deep anger at his friend for such a long held secret, for even allowing Sybil some kind of connection to Branson. Jealousy is always Charles' demon, and as he takes himself to his office to begin the business of pulling strings, he has to fight his own emotions with every fibre of his being.

Xx

Lady Mary is not so able to hold back her anger. As she dressed for dinner, Matthew crept in quietly, dismissed Anna and told Mary the whole Branson story.

Mary, predictably, responds with ice. "I am cross, Matthew, very cross. If the man has been foolish enough to land in jail he should be allowed to serve his time. Consider his actions. I tolerated your need to look out for the man because of his service to you, but having Charles pull strings is something else. This is ridiculous."

Matthew responds with fire, "Oh don't be a hypocrite, Mary. Why do you take on your political causes if you cannot have empathy for Tom?"

"Why should I have empathy for a man who could have taken my sister down that road with him? A man who _chooses_ armed violence in his pursuit for freedom? I have no cause to think kindly of rashness. Violence is immaturity. Thank God Sybil married Charles."

"You should have empathy because he is as political as you. Because he had the sense to let your sister go even though she was willing to be with him."

"Don't make this about Sybil! And you cannot tell her about it, she's in a delicate stage of her pregnancy. Have you no filial feeling?"

"I have every filial feeling. You are not the only person with moral standing here, Mary. And I empathize with Tom. I don't know that I wouldn't take up arms for a cause. I did go to war."

"Yes, you did. And still you walk with a cane."

"That is unnecessarily harsh, Mary."

"Matthew, when you married me you knew that I was unnecessarily harsh. This is no time to regret your decision."

"I do not have the patience for what I see as irrational anger. I will have Barrow make up the bed in the dressing room for tonight."

As Matthew limps out, Mary raises her face to her mirror and determinedly brushes powder over her cheeks, each stroke of the brush pushing away the tears that prick at her.

Xx

It is a cold, windy day when Tom is released. He walks out of the prison, his head aching from hunger, his good eye watering from effort. A smart young chauffeur comes up to greet him.

"Please get in the car, sir."

Tom is too disoriented to struggle. He settles into the back seat and looks across at Charles Blake.

" …how… why… forgive me."

Charles smiles and responds briskly. "Nothing to forgive, Branson. The favour I do is for , who asked me to look after you. Here is some money for a train ticket and some food. It should be enough for some lodging. We will drop you by the station. In the packet you will also find a letter from Sir Stephen Blake, testifying to your character and wrongful imprisonment."

"I am very grateful, sir."

"Pay me back by making different choices, Branson. There is always work at Ballygoyne or at Montrose Place for you."

"Thank you sir, but I will make my own way."

"Very well, here is your stop. I'm surprised you do not ask after Lady Sybil."

"May I ask after her, sir?"

"It would be unnatural if you did not. Sybil is well. We are expecting our first child. She is very healthy, thank God."

Tom smiles. "I am glad of that."

Charles holds his gaze frankly. "I think that you are sincere. Good. I wish you well. Matthew asks that you send word should you be in any need."

Tom exits the car and tips his hat to Charles, and watches the car slowly rush away.

Xx

And far away, in the city of London, in the house called Montrose Place, Matthew Crawley hands Sybil Blake a telegram under the disapproving eyes of Mary Crawley.

 _It is done STOP. Branson free STOP Sent to Galway STOP. Blake STOP._


	56. Chapter 56

**And 56. Will try to get to 60 before I am taken away again. Thank you for reading and reviewing, and sticking with me!**

 **June 1920**

Mary Crawley is very tired. She spends her weekdays pursuing her political goals and her weekends at Downtown learning the running of the estate. Matthew, having been promoted to being a departmental head in the new Institute for Public Administration is quite definitely set on course to a stratospheric career in the civil service. He is implicitly trusted by all he works with, known as a sound chap by the entire establishment, and, of course, receives certain perks because he is a future peer.

Many doors are open for Mary, also, but, as a woman, she has a little bit of work to do in convincing others of her ability to stand for parliament, to take causes forward. Most of all, her family. As she arrives at Grantham House to greet her parents and grandmother, she braces herself, just a little.

"Ah, Mary. Are you here in your capacity as daughter or as political dragoness?", chirruped her grandmother, now well settled with tea and a post-travel whisky.

"Oh Mama, let her be. Darling, you look worn out. I hear Matthew is the same. Why don't you send Nanny and the children to Downton with us and take off for a little holiday?"

"Neither Matthew nor I have the time for a holiday. Besides, Sybil will be at Downton for her confinement, you'll be busy."

"With Nanny and Mrs Hughes, I shall be well provided with helpers. Send them to me, I love being Granny. Even the Strallan brood will be with me for the summer, as Edith and Anthony are taking themselves to the French Riviera."

Mary thought she heard her grandmother cackle, but the moment slipped by so quickly, she had no time to remark upon it.

"Very well Mama, I shall speak with Matthew. I dare say we could use a change of scene. When do Isobel and Richard arrive?"

Again, a distant cackle.

"This evening. I must say Richard is very excited for the Grantham ball. We may have to have Carson on stand by with something calming. But it's so wonderful to have him as a part of the family. He is so good to Isobel."

"Yes he is. I want him to take a little look at Reggie. Nanny says he often has wheezing spells."

"Oh my dear. Don't you want to show him to a specialist?"

"Richard first. Matthew insists."

"You aren't one to give in to Matthew easily."

"Matthew and I are dominant creatures. We have to have some fundamentals laid out."

"Your Papa says that the running of Downton will fall to you. Matthew is tipped to be a Permanent Secretary to a Cabinet office."

"Yes. Well Downton was always supposed to be mine, wasn't it?"

"And had your mother managed to have boys, it would have been so.", breathed the Dowager in the corner.

"Well I suppose that puts an end to that. I'm going up for a rest. Carson, will you ask that I be woken at the gong?", and with a brisk swish of her skirts, the Countess is gone.

Mary sighs exasperatedly at Violet, and looks at Carson for sympathy. No help there, the old butler is firmly with the Dowager on this one, a fact that the venerable old lady notes with glee.

"Ah. You see. Listen to Carson if you won't listen to me!"

"Granny… I don't really care anymore. It has worked out that Downton will belong to me, and after that to my son and grandchildren. It is the way it was supposed to be."

"Then why do you sound so abysmally tired?"

"Matthew and I…. haven't been as we used to be. It is not easy between us."

"Then your mother's idea of time away is good one. Marriage _is_ a kind of labour, my dear. But be happy. If a couple does not get along they simply find themselves in a situation where they are unable to see as much of each other as they'd like to. You can be happy for many years that way."

"Was it the same for you and Grand Papa?"

"We were the Edwardians! We both turned a blind eye when it was necessary, but we had great affection, and, most of all, respect for each other. I think you and Matthew have even more than that."

"Yes. But perhaps all it is, is that we are no longer simply lovers."

"You fight like lovers."

Mary laughed, and looked out the window to see her husband walking up the front steps. Deep inside her, she felt a little thrill, and remembered a kiss in the midst of pigs. Inspired by her grandmother's words, she acts against instinct and tripped lightly to the foyer and, holding out her hands greeted him with a soft little kiss on his cheek.

"My wife! Happy to see me?" he raised cautious and quizzical eyebrows.

"Yes.", she said in a voice that promised him the world. Where there is love, there is always hope…even though the road may be hard at times.

Mary never saw, but as he followed her into the sitting room, Matthew wiped away a tear of relief at a seeming break in the tension between them.

Xx

Edith dipped her head back into the sunshine and smiled. "You don't mind missing the London season?", she asked of Anthony, seated next to her.

He laughed softly. "Do you know, my darling, that there is nothing I dislike more than the London season?"

"You also say that about the Downton Christmas market."

"If your Granny can be contrary, why cannot I be?"

Edith giggled. "I wanted to bring you back to yourself a little bit, dearest. I think I have done that. Now tomorrow you are at leisure to sleep all day while I work."

"So you have managed to snag that young authoress? Or is this the process of the snag?"

"Lady Archibald is hosting a little luncheon tomorrow, with the best and brightest of young female writers. I dare say my prey will be there."

Anthony rubbed her hands and said, "I'm so pleased to find _you_ back to your old determined self, wife of mine. You were too fretful, too old before your time."

Before Edith could respond, Anthony leaned forward with a serious expression on his face. "I think this is the time to tell you of some changes I have made to the will."

"There's no need to talk of wills. You are out of danger."

"But, my darling, the reality you have to accept is that I am weaker than I was, and that you will, at some point, have to manage without me. No, hush, you must know these things. I am aware that Grantham has made provision for small trusts for Lili, Marigold and Patrick, and I intend to do the same. It will ensure each of them a modest living. Robbie, as my heir, is already guaranteed a future. Matthew is a trustee for the Grantham estates, and Mr. Harris is the executor. I propose that we also use Mr. Harris for the same purpose, but that you hold the position of trustee. My will also names you as guardian if Robbie is under twenty-one when I die."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you must know it, Edith. There are things you must be ready to face."

"How can I face it all without you?"

"Darling, when we married did you think we had sixty years of marriage ahead of us?"

Edith closed her eyes and let the tears fall down her face. Anthony pulled her close and whispered, "Do not fear, I have no plans to die before the new year. Your grandmother has forbidden me from doing so."

Xx

At the end of July, on an otherwise unremarkable day, the British Communist Party is formed. Later in the day, in a rather straightforward way, Lady Sybil Blake is delivered of twins.

"Twins!" cries the Dowager with raised eyebrows. "How very Irish."

"Twins!", cries the Countess, " how lovely to see the family expands."

"Twins!," cries Charles Blake, "My god. And Sybil doesn't want a nanny."

The twins, unaware of the family's reactions, sleep peacefully in their crib.

"I don't think we had two names, did we darling?", asks Charles as he looms over them.

"We had a name for a girl, and a name for a boy. We simply distribute.", said his wife tiredly.

And so they are christened Sybil Eva, who, feeling a sense of destiny, will grow up to be an intellectual leader of the Communist Party, and Phillip Matthew, who will go on to be a Conservative leader. Twins, bonded for life, but as different as oil and water.

"Are you happy, Charles?"

"Yes, sweet girl, I am ."

And full of this happinesss, a few months later, Charles boarded the _Queen Anne_ and set sail to India, unaware of the tumult that was to come into his life.

Xx


	57. Chapter 57

_My friends. I am so sorry for how long this has taken, and hope that many of you will still be reading. Shall we call this a Christmas gift? Unfortunately, I had two enormous research projects and couldn't spare the time for sitting down with this-rather complex story. Forgive me, forgive me._

 **March, 1921**

"A very successful event, Dr Stopes, you should be proud.", said Lady Sybil Blake as she exited the new clinic in Holloway.

"Thank you very much, Lady Sybil. And I am mot grateful for the support of both the Blakes and the Crawleys, I must say."

"My sister and I, not to mention our husbands feel it is _such_ an important step forward for women's rights, especially those of the poor. You must be assured of our full support."

"Could I interest you at all in volunteering here?"

"I'm afraid that by April I will be on my way to India, to join my husband."

"How exciting. You are prepared for all of it?"

"Yes, Charles has set it all up, and I am to join as a Ward sister in a local hospital in Bombay. The twins are old enough for the long crossing, and excited to join their father."

"Well I wish you all the best, Lady Sybil."

"As I do you Dr Stopes. You can be assured of our financial support."

Smiling to herself, Sybil walked slowly to the train station. It was a bit of a long walk, but in March, with the world breaking a-new, and just the right kind of sunshine, she could easily be lost in her thoughts. She had finally completed her training as a psychiatric nurse, and had been apprenticing at the London Hospital for the past few months. The work also helped to distract her from missing Charles and worrying about Tom. Charles wrote frequently, but Tom had not been heard of since October. Neither could Sybil do much to reach out to him as she and the children were staying in Charles' London home, alongside Hortense Blake. Matthew, now Permanent Secretary to the ministry of Agriculture was amongst the busiest men in the United Kingdom and Sybil disliked troubling him too much.

Today, she travelled to Downton, to spend two weeks with her parents before the long voyage to India. Sybil was well aware that the invitation was mostly so that her Mama and Papa could have the twins to themselves for a while, but she was pleased anyway. She sat in her carriage and busied herself with her latest letter from Charles, his enthusiasm for the work he was doing quite dispelling her thoughts of the 'lost' Tom.

But the next morning brings with it news that keeps Tom at the foremost of her mind. In County Cork, the Crossbarry Ambush, between the IRA and British troops has left ten British troops and three IRA volunteers dead. Panicked, she scans the paper for the names of the IRA volunteers, but the information is not there. A few days later, the news is no better, with the Headford Ambush. Nine more British troops die at the hands of the IRA and sentiment turns harshly against the Irish liberation effort. It is almost unbearable for Sybil to have no news of Tom, and she spends all her days in the nursery, over feeding her children.

On March 30, she is sitting in the nursery, with Sybbie on her lap when a squeal and a thud herald the arrival of Master George Crawley. He kisses his cousins and his aunt effusively and bounces to the corner of the nursery to pull out his toys.

"I really don't know where he gets his energy, I really don't", says George's Mama, coming in behind him, "Hello Sybil darling. Come downstairs, Nanny is here now, she can manage the children. Mama says you've been hiding here."

"Oh Mary, has Matthew any news?"

"Come, let's not talk inside the house."

The sisters walk quickly outside and maintain their silence till they reach the gazebo at the far end of the rose garden.

"Why all the skulduggery, Mary?"

"Because Granny is around and has ideas as to why you have been morose these past few days…you certainly weren't so sad when Charles left. Anyway, I'm sorry this didn't come any sooner but Matthew only just managed some news through. The good is that Tom is not dead, he wasn't part of the ambushes. The bad, is that he has become one of their key organisers."

"With the IRA? It's so unlike who he used to be."

"Or maybe what the war made him, Sybil. Does it matter? I thought the chapter was closed."

"I don't think that chapter will ever really close for me, Mary."

Mary took her hand. "You must try harder Sybil. You have children now.. and Charles. India will be a fresh start and I really think that Tom is lost to you now. Lost to all of us. Even Matthew…."

"I know Mary, and I am happy. But on days like this, it is too hard to bear."

Xx

 **April 1921**

Letter: Mr Matthew Crawley to Mr. Charles Blake

 _My dear old fellow,_

 _I hope this finds you well. Mary and I have just seen Sybil and the children off. She seems a little preoccupe, but, I admit, so have we all. You may have heard of the possibility of strike action with transport and railways. It's the damndest thing and affects all branches of government indiscriminately. Horrid to think how much we do depend on coal in our day and age. There continue to be rumblings in Northern Ireland and ever more troubles about worker's rights. I do not know what can be done, my friend, how best we can find out what is needed. I certainly miss your counsel. Mary has been touring Yorkshire for her 'politicking' and has more information than I do, but neither of us know what is best, what it right. Neither do things seem at all settled on the Continent. You would think that peacetime would be easier than the war we went through._

 _Mary and I have puzzled a little over your last missive, although I know Sybil seems very supportive. What do you mean you are supportive of the Indian non-cooperation movement? I wonder if it is wise for you, a civil service man, to have such sympathies? Are you really going to see this Gandhi chap? Is it wise to involve yourself this way when your wife and children are to come to live with you?_

 _Of course I shan't be telling Robert or Cora, but I must caution you, old friend. The Hindoos do not strike me as those who will be 'non-violent' for long. Or is that my own prejudice? The only Indian I know is Jai Shah, who was at Balliol with me, but his father was some kind of minor Princeling, and they seemed more 'toffee-nosed' than the Dowager!_

 _In any case, keep us abreast._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Matthew._

Xx

Anthony Strallan breathes his last on a clear day in April. Edith, editing an article, and seated next to him in the little morning room at Locksley, does not realise it immediately. She simply thinks he has fallen asleep. And indeed, he did, with the last image he saw the vision of his wife in buttery yellow, her hair kissed by sunlight, concentrating on the pages in front of her. His last thought is 'My Edith", and he dies a sweet and happy death. It was a slight and almost imperceptible heart event, brought on from boisterous dancing the night before at a ball. Or, it was simply his time, but I must admit that Death, too shed a tear, as he took Anthony with him to the land beyond.

It is good that they are alone, for when Edith finally realises her loss, she falls to the floor in a crumbling heap.


	58. Chapter 58

_Already a review, hooray! All right, here's chapter 58._

Letter: The Countess of Grantham to Lady Edith Strallan

 _May 13 1921_

 _My darling Edith,_

 _How are you, my dear? Susan telephoned yesterday to say that you had finally eaten a full meal. I hope the spring air up at Duneagle is doing you good. Take long walks my darling, and try hard not to think of Anthony. He loved you so and would not like you to be sorrowful long. Try to think of the good memories, my girl._

 _The children are well and keeping Papa and I very amused. Robbie is the only one who senses if anything is wrong and asks for you often. Papa has spoken to the lawyers and will handle some of the administrative issues, but there are an awful lot of things for you to sign my dear…. But it can wait till you are well._

 _I am glad that Anthony had the sense to leave everything in trust to you. He knew how capable were you my darling. Remember that! Remember how great a love you have known. Telephone us if you can. Papa and I will come up with the children in June as planned, unless you'd rather we didn't._

 _It may cheer you to know that Mary and Matthew have decided to join Isobel and Richard for a walking tour in June before the season so they won't come up to Scotland as usual. I dare say Matthew's head has prevailed in that decision. You mustn't mind Mary, she cannot know what it is to lose a husband._

 _I enclose a package of Mrs. Patmore's ginger snaps. She wanted to send you your favourite. Granny has sent you a little book of prayers._

 _Remember that Papa and I hold you very close in our hearts, and that Anthony will always be with you._

 _Your loving,_

 _Mama_

Xx

Edith brushed her hair from her face and looked around her at the wildness of the countryside. The weather was overcast, a harsh wind beginning to pick up, but the field was not without beauty. That harsh Scottishness, a beauty from another time. She felt empty, neither grief nor joy. Just nothing.

" _You feel nothing my love? How is that?"_

Was it Anthony? Or just his voice on the wind?

"Why did you leave me? You took all my feelings with you!"

" _Did the body die, wither away? Am I not in your soul my darling? Am I not every part of your soul?"_

And with that thought, Edith let out a howl of anger. "I am angry with you…..how could you desert me? You promised! Don't say pretty things to me, when I cannot ….cannot have you."

" _I am sorry my darling. I love you. I will never stop loving you. But it is your time now, my time is over."_

"I am nothing without you."

The wind whips up harder, surrounding her, embracing her, while she finally gives in to all her tears.

Xx

Charles Blake is sweating heavily. The overhead fan only seems to stir the heat into a different direction. He nods gratefully at the peon who brings him a _nimbupani._

"Could you open a window, Imran?"

"Sorry sir, too much dust at this time. Sir Christopher has asked for you, sir."

"Yes, thank you." Gulping down his drink, and making the peon roll his eyes at this _angrez_ who can't learn to sip slowly, he walks the two flights down to his superior's office.

"Ah, Blake. Good man. Have a seat under the fan. Bleddy hot, bleddy thing. Not enough ice in all the world."

"Why did you need me Sir Christopher?"

"Had a rummy sort of letter this morning. As you know , we expect the Prince of Wales here next month."

"Indeed, and we are all ready."

"You may not be ready for this. Apparently those damned anti-colonials are planning an 'agitation'. Whatever the hell that means. We may need to deploy the police."

"The movement is non-violent. You may not need the police."

"Doesn't matter. If they are sitting around, they would still need to be removed."

"I don't think that would be wise, Sir Christopher. Gandhi commands huge numbers. And they are not all uncivilised, Nehru is a Cambridge man."

"Gandhi was at the University of London… which calls into question what they are teaching over there. But it is besides the point, we had best prepare. I am aware you have some contacts within the movement. Could you inquire as to their exact plan?"

"I don't think I would be comfortable with that, sir."

"Dammit man! This is not the time to choose the wrong side. Isn't your wife on her way? "

Charles dropped his head, glowering. The heat he felt now did not come solely from the tropical weather.

Xx

May 27 1921

Matthew is just sitting to breakfast when the door opens and he is joined by his wife.

"No tray today, my darling?"

"I have several meetings with the party today, and cannot waste the morning."

Matthew smirks and retreats into his newspaper, his brow furrowing over the news of the burning of the Customs House in Dublin. He taps his spoon against his egg cup, irritated.

"Dublin?", asks Mary, not raising her eyes from her own paper.

"Dublin, " he affirms, "I shall have to look up my contact at the Irish desk again. "

"It may be time for us to forget Tom, I told Sybil she had to."

"We made a commitment, didn't we? And it sounds like Charles is also to join a revolution. Is it Sybil? Does she inspire all men in this way?"

"Matthew, don't be frightful. I don't care about Tom, but Charles is dabbling in something much worse."

"The end of Empire?"

"The Empire has done much good, you agree."

"Perhaps."

Mary rolled her eyes and pointed to his cup. "Don't mock Empire while drinking Ceylon Tea, my dear. It only makes you look like a hypocrite."

"Thankfully, only to my wife, and I have been a figure of mockery to her for years."

Mary smiles and raises her cup at him in a toast.

At that point, Barrow enters with a telegram.

"Mr. Crawley, sir…and there is someone waiting for a response."

"**&&$!"

"Matthew, language. Barrow, leave us!"

"Tom is amongst the arrested. They've found a letter from me in his bag, and I'm now summoned to the Ministry of Defence."

"Oh for God's sake."

Xx

In his cell, Tom sits quietly, drawing an 'S' idly into the sand beneath him.


	59. Chapter 59

_Thank you so much for coming back and reading and reviewing! I should be writing out a deeply serious academic article, but I just want to do this!_

The Earl of Grantham enjoys his daily routine. He rises early, does some light exercise before sitting to a cup of tea in his dressing room. After dressing, and a little chat with Bates, he breakfasts and reads the paper and his letters. Post-breakfast is time for any estate meetings and other sundry business. Then, it is time for luncheon and a little snooze. The best part of his day is a long afternoon walk, Isis by his side. They ramble through the grounds and out into the adjoining fields and moors, thoroughly at peace.

We join the Earl on his walk, the spring air filling his lungs, smiling to see a field full of wild daffodils and hear the first gurgle of a brook springing to life after winter. Isis is over excited to breathe in the scent of rabbits and goes off—snuffle snuffle pant pant pant- to find some.

The Earl laughs and runs alongside her, heading a little deeper into the copse. He sits to rest on a tree stump and glories in this time to himself, free from family and estate.

Not too far away, Mr. Carson is handing an urgent telegram to Neill, the junior footman. Neill, a new recruit from the village is the three time winner of the Choir Boy's Hundred Yards Handicap and two time winner of the Village Sack Race. In short, the boy can run, and fast.

"You'll find his Lordship somewhere by Billing's Copse, I'd imagine. Get on with it.", commands Mr. Carson, and Neill goes off in hot pursuit.

Our genial Earl, lost in halcyon thoughts brought on by his surroundings, suddenly hears the thud thud of running feet. He peeks through the trees and recognises a footman's livery. Not wanting to be disturbed, he ducks down behind the tree stump and waits quietly.

"woof woof!" _Bloody dog._

"Isis, you dozy dog, where's His Lordship then? "

Dogs are such traitors. Isis obediently goes round the tree stump and wags her tail. The Earl rises, in as dignified a manner as possible.

"A telegram, your Lordship."

"Yes, thank you. Tell Mr. Carson I will be back at the house directly."

As the footman walks away, the Earl wonders who the real Master of the house is. He tears open the telegram,

M. CRAWLEY to R. CRAWLEY

Urgent needed in London STOP. Will explain when you arrive STOP. Don't tell Granny STOP.

Xx

Matthew sits patiently in the office of the Assistant Secretary to the Minister of Defence, a glass of sherry in his hand. He has been waiting for a few hours for his conference with the Minister, and is not a little annoyed at these delaying tactics. He has accepted the glass of sherry so as to seem undisturbed. Yet, he worries at the letter than Tom would have had on him. He'd primarily written to give Tom updates of Sybil, but all his letters had promised help, any help he needed. _Dash it all._

The Permanent Secretary comes in. "Ah, Crawley. Thank you for waiting. Just needed a word."

"I've been happy to wait all morning, Addington. I trust you breakfasted well?"

"Plentifully. We have a new cook at Hatton House."

Addington sat across from Matthew and placed a small file on the table between them.

"You are aware of why you are here."

"It would seem one of the IRA volunteers is my former batman."

"Then you know him well?"

"Indeed, and we correspond. Branson did our family, and the British people great service during the war. It cannot be forgotten."

"Yet, he has turned his hand to militancy. That also cannot be forgotten."

"What is the point of this conversation, Addington?"

"We need to ascertain that you are not harbouring any…. unfortunate political opinions."

"I am a senior civil servant and the heir to the Earl of Grantham."

"You were not always these things, and you have a close association with Charles Blake, who, shall we say, has not always toed the line. Sir Christopher Ainsworth informs us that he has picked up the wrong sympathies after less than nine months in India."

Matthew kept his face an expressionless mask, but resolved to write Charles a scathing letter later on. He gave Addington a Maryesque look.

"Did the letter found on Branson suggest anything out of line?"

"I understand it was purely a domestic update, family life. Some photographs."

"Then this is an unnecessary conversation."

"Why keep up an intimate correspondence with your batman?"

"We were injured together, he'd served the family before. There is a good friendship there."

Addington pulled out a piece of paper. "Branson was previously arrested and it would seem that Charles Blake pulled some strings to ensure his release."

"Yes, as a personal favour. As I said, the Crawley family is indebted to his service."

"Are you aware that Branson carries on his person a photograph of Lady Sybil Blake?"

"No, but it is unsurprising. As I said, we all became great friends during the war. We were all young together, and war breaks down barriers. I understand you didn't serve in the war, Addington. You wouldn't understand the bonds of service and patriotic duty. "

Addington raised his eyebrows. "The complex interweb of these relationships is beyond me, is it? However, I must warn you that both yourselves and the Blakes are now under… shall we say watchful guard?"

"Are you accusing us of being part of a militant group?"

"Harbouring challenging sympathies. But if there is nothing in it, then all shall be well..in the fullness of time."

"You are a ridiculous man, Addington."

"I will be letting you go home now, Crawley. We've prescribed some gardening leave for you, until we have satisfied ourselves. Both your father in law and the Marquess of Flintshire have been ringing the Home Secretary with guarantees of character. I understand your father in law is with the Home Secretary as we speak. You are lucky to be a peer, Crawley."

Downing his sherry, Matthew got up to leave.

"And what will happen to Branson?"

"You cannot ask me a question I will not answer. And Crawley….I understand your wife travels the country extensively."

"Yes?"

"I'd suggest she impose some gardening leave on herself, as well."

Xx

Of course the Dowager soon hears the whole story from that irrepressible gossip the Marchioness of Flintshire. That unestimable lady was all atwitter with what she supposed was the irresponsible behaviour of her half-American nieces. Because _of course_ , it couldn't be their Englishness that caused all of it.

With typical Dowagery celerity, Violet rings up half the aristocracy and threatens them with rack and ruin, and the spilling of all sorts of family secrets in order to ensure that Matthew 's gardening leave is alleviated. Yet, nothing can be done with regards to the surveillance the two families are put under.

The Dowager, seated in Yorkshire, unleashes a string of ancient curses, and decides that this is the problem with allowing non-natural peers ascendancy in government ranks.

The Countess of Grantham only worries over the revelation of the closeness to their old chauffeur. There were so many things she only realised in whispers. _Where is the truth of it all?_

The Earl retires to his favourite Copse and ponders the life of a hermit.

Xx

Enroute to India, and undisturbed by telegrammatic communication of any sort, Sybil Blake sits on deck with her children, the wind in her hair and salty spray on her lips. She looks at the sea behind her and whispers her goodbyes to her old life, thrilling to what is to come.

Xx

After Matthew goes home from the Ministry, he spends his day in despondent silence. Mary spends it in absolute fury, but a furious silence too. That night, as they lie together in bed, the fragility of their existence suddenly seems all together too much.

She reaches for him and pulls him to her. Suddenly, in a kind of grasping fury, they tear of each others clothes and fall into a delirium of love making. Grasping, pulling, clawing. Driven by absolute need for that one thing that is sure, that one thing that is real. At the end, Mary cries, unsure of what she cries for.


	60. Chapter 60

_Happy New Year! Thank you so much for reading my little story. As an update, I've also started my novel…so hopefully it attracts a publisher!_

Charles Blake is waiting, a little sweatily. The early summer heat leaves pools of sweat in his hat band, his arm pits, on his back. He blows out and fans himself with his file folder, eagerly watching the _Queen Mary_ as it docks. He watches the arrivals for what seems like a lifetime before a slim, raven headed figure in pink pastel is seen, cradling two children on her hips. He runs towards the gangplank but is held back by a customs official.

"Please wait behind the rope, _Sahib._ "

"I have a special pass, British government."

The official gives him the look of reprove common to all border guards of past, present and future. The papers are censured and Charles is waved forward. Walking quickly forwards, he manages to grasp Sybil just by her elbow. "Welcome to Bombay, my dear."

Sybil turns and smiles, tiredly. "Hello, oh it is good to see you. Take a child, won't you?"

Charles laughs and kisses his wife and two children effusively. He takes little Sybbie into his arms. "Oh my, how you have grown! Thank God you both look like your mother! I cannot believe you did the whole journey without a Nanny. Mama has been extremely vexed."

"So were Mama and Granny. But we managed. The ship's captain was awfully helpful, and we made so many friends, didn't we darlings?"

"Come, come, I've got a porter for your luggage, let's get you out of this heat."

The car ride to the modest bungalow that Charles has settled on is comparatively quick, but Sybil falls asleep during, much to the amusement of her very awake twins. Almost a year, and with some movement between them, it was all their Papa could do to keep them falling off the seat. As the car stopped, Sybil woke softly and delighted in the sea view before her, the Indian Ocean, glimmering in blues and greens. The bungalow stretched before them, long and low and white, with a terracotta red roof. A charming little garden circled the drive, and Sybil smiled to see the promise of an extensive backgarden.

"It's lovely, Charles. Well done."

"Come and meet the staff."

"I thought we weren't going to have any."

"The absolute minimum, I promise! And they are all people you will enjoy."

"What do you mean, darling?"

"You'll see. Ah, here is Muhammad, he's the major domo. The young boy with him is Anthony. Take the bags won't you Anthony, there's a good chap. I'll help you with the trunk in a minute."

Charles led his little family into the cool of the patio, where the cook-housekeeper Mrs Fonseca waited with glasses of cold _nimbupani._

"Welcome, Lady Blake. We're so pleased you're here.", she said in a sing-song English. She gestured to a young girl, of about seventeen, who hovered by with a large smile. "This is Nandita. She will help with the children."

"It is good to meet you both, I intend to help as much as I can with the house. I'm used to it.", said Sybil.

Mrs Fonseca smiled but thought to herself that the _angrez madam_ was about as mad as her husband. Servants were there for a purpose, there was no need to meddle with hierarchy.

"Thank you, Lady Blake. There is also Menaka who does the house cleaning. On every other day, Meena will come for the bathrooms and other such cleaning. Mohammed is assisted by Anthony and Imtiyaz, and a gardener, Feroze, comes twice a week."

A trifle overwhelmed, Sybil just smiled and nodded. "Thank you. Perhaps you could serve us some tea in a little while? I think I'd like to draw a bath and change." (Lest we forget that Sybil _did_ grow up in an Edwardian household.)

Once in their room, a cool , high ceilinged affair with large windows opening onto the garden, Sybil raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Far too many staff, Charles. Aren't we supposed to be living simply? Didn't we promise?"

"Darling, you'll be working full time at the hospital from next week, and we needed someone for the children. Besides, we have barely a quarter of the staff that others do. And, I couldn't get round the whole caste palaver. The girl who does the bedrooms can't be the person who does the bathrooms. And there are restrictions on who can enter the kitchen. All this untouchable stuff, you know. "

"Oh, of course. Well, we must make every effort to simplify where we can."

"Well, if it helps, you do have some revolutionaries on your hands. Both Mrs. Fonseca and Mohammed support Mr. Gandhi. It's what Mohammed does on his days off. It' s our open secret and they were happy to be part of our household only because they know I support independence movement."

"Even though you do work for the British here."

"I can be a servant of two masters. "

"I _am_ proud of you for that Charles, but both Matthew and Papa are worried."

Charles shrugged and twitched his head. "It's not that that has us in a bind anyway is it, it's that business of Tom's."

Sybil paled. "What has happened to Tom?"

Gently, Charles informed Sybil of the whole affair, and the 'watchful guard' they were all now under. "I was harangued a bit by Sir Christopher, but a letter arrived from Matthew this morning with more details." He handed the sheets over to Sybil.

She read them carefully.

"And how is Tom?"

"I don't know, but the signing of the accord will likely help with things at his end. As will his military record. Did you know, they found a photograph of you…amongst his things." Charles said this last thing without emotion.

"Oh." She coloured.

"The door is always open to you, Sybil." But he gritted his teeth as he said it.

"Don't be silly. Come, here and hold me. It's been so long since you did."

Kissing his wife on her cheek, and holding her close, Charles tried not to let his jealousy burn him.

Xx

 **July 1921**

Edith returned to Locksley in the mid-summer. Although her parents had gone to London for the season, she felt no desire to open Hilton House without Anthony by her side. She stole up to the nursery and watched her children as they took their afternoon rest. Robbie stirred in his sleep and said "Papa?". Edith burst into tears and went to hold him.

Opening his eyes, Robbie kissed her forehead and nuzzled into her neck, falling fast asleep again. A half hour later, when Nanny came in to wake the children, she found her mistress sprawled on the floor, asleep, her eldest in her arms.

Nanny coughed carefully, and Edith awoke, looking a trifle alarmed.

"My apologies, Nanny. I'll go down and find some tea."

"Of course ma'am. I believe that Lady Grantham's car is just coming up the driveway."

Edith frowned, wondering what would have brought her Mama back from London so quickly. She went to her reading room and awaited her guest.

It was the Dowager, trailing Isobel Clarkson.

"Oh, Granny! What a relief!"

"Were you expecting a delegation of Russian Revolutionaries? Do be sensible, Edith dear."

Isobel pursed her lips and moved forward to embrace Edith lightly. "Never mind your grandmother" – The Dowager looked as if she had swallowed a lemon!- "We came by to offer tea and sympathy, wouldn't be good for you to be alone your first day. I remember the day I walked back to the house when Reginald died. Thank god for Matthew being a rather rambunctious adolescent!"

Edith motioned them to a seat and rang the bell for tea. "This is very kind of you. I know I will be glad of the distraction. Mama has asked me to come to stay with them when they are back from London, and I think I shall go there with the children for August."

"A sensible idea. Then you can plan."

Edith gave them a watery smile. "Tell me some news, any news."

The Dowager settled in for a bit of a gossip. "Well, there is that scandal with the Pembrokes. He's always preferred to keep the footmen in his bed rather than his wife, and nobody minded really. They'd already produced an heir and a spare. But the silly woman, Laura was always rather weak, came back from a vacation in America and gave the man an ultimatum! It's too terrible, really…and now his secret is out!"

"Won't he be imprisoned?"

The Dowager helped herself to some date cake. "Very likely. That hideous son of the Sussexes is getting married- found some desperate Greek heiress or other. His mother will be glad to get him off her hands. _What_ an ugly boy!"

Isobel tittered nervously and asked, "Do you know what happened to Branson? I know Matthew and Mary were pressing Robert to help him."

Edith frowned. "There was very little Papa could do, or Uncle, really. In the end, Mama spoke to her friend Lady Anstruther, whose husband is in the Home Office. He has military service, and was injured, so that helped a great deal, really. They can't really keep an injured veteran of the Great War behind bars. I think Matthew and Charles are under more scruntiny. Anyway, Uncle Shrimpie and Lord Anstruther stood him guarantee and I think Branson has been sent for two years' mandated military service in one of the colonies. I understand the condition is that Branson is not allowed to return to Ireland for the next ten years."

"If he survives the colonies! He's been sent to cholera and dysentery, no doubt.", said the unquenchable Dowager.

Xx

 **September 1921**

Corporal Thomas Branson shouldered his rifle and waited patiently for the morning drill to begin. In the background, the foothills of the Himalayas. Before him, a small regiment of the Royal Sussex Guards, a group of men who, knowing his background and inclinations, viewed him as more of the servant of the regiment, rather than a fellow soldier. _Two years, Two years, that's all Branson old boy, and then you'll be free._

He also pressed down on the thought he could not bring himself to think. That Sybil was now only a day's train ride away.


	61. Chapter 61

**August 1921**

Mary walks slowly up the drive to Downton Abbey, enjoying the sight of the great house as it rises before her. For Mary now, Downton shines out, a symbol of her and Matthew's future. Her smile turns to an expression of disdain as she sees Edith coming down the drive toward her. _Oh yes. The widow that haunts the castle._

"Hello, Mary. I didn't know you were back from London.", said Edith politely.

"Yes. Matthew's gardening leave ends in September, and we wanted some time on the estate beforehand. I'll be staying in Yorkshire through Christmas. Are you staying long?"

"Mama and Papa have been most generous."

"Surely, you are needed at Locksley."

"My agent and housekeeper have things well in hand. Robbie's tutors will start in September, so we will have to be back at Locksley then."

"Well, I must let you get on.", said Mary, and moved on.

Mary is greeted at the door by Mr. Carson, who ushers her in to the library to see Mr. Jarvis. They spend a long morning poring over the estate's bills and tenancies, before taking a brisk walk round to inspect the new livestock at Happy Brook Farm. _What a tragedy of a name_.

The farmer is a large, grim sort of man, a tenant at Downton for over thirty years. He eyes Mary with suspicion and apprehension.

"We're very happy with Lord Grantham's way of doing things, milady."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Wilson.", said Mary bending to inspect a young calf.

"Only I hear that Mr. Matthew has big plans for the estate."

"Does he? So do I. As you can see from the new cottages at by Berry's Heath, they are good, profitable plans."

"We wouldn't want to lose any lands to hare-brained schemes, would we, milady?"

"Goodness, no. Whatever makes you say such things?"

"Only Mr. Jarvis was saying…."

Jarvis interrupted. "You must have misunderstood me, Wilson. Shall we see the milk cows?"

Mary walked forward with threateningly expressionless eyebrows.

She bides her time till tea, when she knows that Matthew will also be up at the house. She grabs him as he comes in to the room and whispers, "I think you were right about Jarvis. The resistance is at home."

"And you saw how much money is leaving the books?"

"Yes. Papa will have to be bearded soon, I'm afraid."

"Shall we wait for a better time? I see the children coming in."

"After the children leave, then. Oh dear, Edith has such ugly children! Hello George, come to Mama!" Mary gathers her rambunctious boy into her arms as Matthew gently takes Reggie from Nanny.

George, irrepressible as ever, opens up his pudgy fist and gifts his mother a handful of snails.

"Good God! What on earth is that? Put it away."

Matthew chuckles at his errant son. "Boys will be boys. Look ye! The future Earl of Grantham!"

Still chuckling at his wife's look of complete disgust, he settles his heir and his spare on his lap and proceeds to feed himself a plentiful amount of fruit cake.

Xx

In the late afternoon sunshine, Edith sits in the Italian garden, with a book. Immersed in the story, she falls asleep in her garden chair, and is only woken by a series of polite coughs. She opens her eyes to see the –admittedly magnificent – sight of Neill, the junior footman. Tall, with a runner's body, dark curls and high cheekbones, he is almost the hero from her novel. Edith, has been, after all, a widow for a few months.

"Your Ladyship, I do apologise, but Mr. Carson has rung the dressing bell."

Edith blushed and smiled, pulling her thoughts back from scenes that were entirely inappropriate.

"How…err how old are you ,errr.."

"Neill, your Ladyship. And I've just turned 20."

"Ah. Well greetings on your birthday I'm sure. Well, I best go in to the house."

Smiling, but befuddled, Neill nods and makes his own way to the servant's hall. Over tea, he relates the incident to his confrere, Jimmy, who giggles and winks.

"I'll tell you what my lad, you've managed a conquest."

"Don't be daft."

"Listen, are you…. An innocent?"

"Not quite, met a lovely girl a year ago at a village dance…."

"Good. I'll tell you what you do. Tonight, after they've all gone to bed, take Lady Edith a cup of tea."

"Why?"

"Trust me. I've had my fair share of good times after a cup of tea. And wash up properly after dinner."

Guided by the errant Jimmy, Neill steals up to the east wing of the house. It is well past midnight, and Mr. Carson has dimmed all the lights in the house. Neill knocks softly on Edith's door. The door opens, hesitantly.

"I…thought you might want a cup of tea, milady. Something to help you sleep?" Jimmy has coached him well.

Edith doesn't respond for a long time. Then, tremulously,, "Thank you. That is kind. I suppose you'd better come in."

That night, Lady Edith grieves completely. In the pleasure and the guilt of sex with the young, supple footman, she rids herself of the gloom of her widowhood. She thrills to the touch of a another, to the simple and overwhelming euphoria of complete physical pleasure.

In the morning, there is just guilt. Her bed is empty, Neill having left after their encounter. _Oh, what have I become?_

She crosses to the window and looks out, her hand twisting her wedding ring.

Then she laughs and smiles, _Oh goodness, what DID I do?_

But it has released something for her.

The encounter is not repeated again, but Edith always looks back on it as the moment when she felt she could leave the cocoon of dark, overhanging sorrow.

Neill, judiciously, holds his tongue. Not so the awful Jimmy, who confides the story to Barrow over a brief drink at the pub. Barrow, conscious of his duty to Mary, ensures that his employer is made aware of Edith's nocturnal adventure. And the story stops there. Mary is half amused that Edith could finally do something so interesting, and half jubilant that she has something to tuck away and bring out when the moment is right. Sometimes Mary is quite like a cat. A cat with a large bird in its mouth.

Xx

The Dowager sits quietly in her room, reading over her morning letters. Most of them are supplications from various nieces and nephews, requiring her masterful ability at rearranging the world to suit their purposes. Others are missives from old friends, updating her of important social points of interests. Others are business matters, pertaining to the various investments and properties still within her purview. You must not forget that the Dowager came to her marriage from an aristocratic family, and thus is a rich woman in her own right. Her final letter is from Susan Flintshire. The Dowager purses her lips and rings for more tea. Letters from Susan require strong tea in one's veins.

The tea comes, and brings with it, Mary.

"Ah Granny, I was just talking some air and thought I might call."

The Dowager gives her a look of deep suspicion. "You've never made a casual call in your life, Mary my dear."

Mary raises her eyebrows and ignores her grandmother's caustic speech. "Who's that letter from?"

"Susan. The usual snippity vicious bits. Ah, an update on that chauffeur. It appears they've posted him to India."

Mary almost chokes on the scone she was helping herself to.

The Dowager pounces. She knew there was something she was not privy to, and had already put two and two together and made eighteen. She rapped her cane against the table.

"Mary, tell me all."

xx


	62. Chapter 62

_Thanks to all who read and review! From Jan 18_ _th_ _, I'm away on a fellowship so I will try to update as frequently as possible. Please don't worry, S/T will get together eventually and I promise not to kill Charles off. Won't be easy…. And I've really grown to like Charles, too._

Mary's guardian angel, as you well know, had had a serious drinking problem. Thankfully, over the course of the last year, things had calmed down enough for him to go to rehab, spend some time with the Goddesses of Self-Care and Inspirational Instagram Posts, and was feeling much better all round. The Dowager's spiky questioning, however, had him itching for a cold glass of gin, with crushed ice and a nice lime.

As it was, he was now doing a tap dance. _Tappity, Tappity Tap Tap Tap._

Mary kept her face a mask. "Whatever do you mean, Granny?"

"I find it highly out of the ordinary that Matthew and Charles would both be implicated in the arrest of an Irish revolutionary. I wonder why Branson's posting to the same country as Sybil has you choke on a scone."

"Could it be that the scone was dry?"

"The scones made in this house are never dry."

"Granny there is nothing to tell."

"Branson was a good worker. There was a _frisson_ between him and Sybil, which I am prepared to ignore as I suspect it was a result of wartime friendliness. And then she married Charles and all was well. Why does Matthew stay so very involved in the man's life?"

 _Tap Tap, shuffle shuffle ball change, tap._

"Matthew is grateful, and you know, very middle class about these things. War makes this more _intime_ as you know. One could ask why Papa hired a crippled valet."

"Susan tells me that Branson carries a photograph of Sybil with him."

Mary sipped her tea slowly. "I've always thought Aunt Susan was something of a fantasist."

"If you do not answer my questions, I shall have to draw my own conclusions."

"I have answered your questions."

"Is Sybil's marriage in any danger from Branson being in India?"

"I am given to understand that India is quite a large country. Should Branson take it in to his head to lead another revolution, I'm sure Sybil is quite safe."

Mary's angel is pouring with sweat.

The Dowager, laboriously and determinedly, reaches for a sandwich. She eats it slowly and delicately. Mary sips her tea and eats another scone.

"Well Mary my dear, what did bring you to call on me?"

"A very many things, Granny. Amongst them, I wonder if you might do an especial favour for myself and Matthew. We've been concerned for a while that Downton is being mismanaged under Jarvis. Money being spent to cover any small problems, and very little focus on what can be profitable, invested, and grown. Not only this, but a few conversations we have had with tenants has made us think that Jarvis has slandered some of our plans for bringing in certain progressive elements to the estate."

"That is certainly worrying. What can I do?"

"Won't you speak to Papa? We do need Jarvis gone, or some form of change? While my movements are being watched, I intend to stay at Crawley House to continue to study my constituency, but I can also take over much more estate management too."

"If I do you this favour, I may expect one in kind."

"As you wish, Granny."

"Will you tell me the truth of the Branson story? All of it?"

"If I must."

Mary's angel throws away his AA pin and hightails it for the good Scotch.

Xx

September is a month of bright days and cool breezes. A new governess is installed at Locksley House, and its mistress, still clad in black, comes back to the house. A few mundane weeks go by, with Edith absorbed in the running of the house and estate matters. Death duties are paid, and a little bit of the estate has to be sold alongside it. Edith watches the fencing off of the pear tree orchard with some sadness, but wills herself to look forward to the future. As she considers the future, she thinks of her magazine, now on hiatus while she mourns. She makes the half hour walk back to the house in deep thought.

Isobel Clarkson awaits her there, with a folder full of papers regarding the vocational school. Under Moseley and Isobel's tutelage, the school had grown in leaps and bounds, attracting not only ex-servicemen and land girls, but also a succession of youth who preferred a 'little extra' on top of their school education. There was a need to expand and bring in new teachers, and Mary and Edith were indeed proud of the newly christened "Strallan school for work". As Isobel chattered and produced papers for signing, Edith was struck by a new thought.

"Cousin Isobel, you were a widow for many years were you not?"

"Indeed I was my dear. Is there something you'd like to share?"

"No, no. I just realised that you continued to work after, didn't you? Even though you didn't quite require the money."

"A woman must have a purpose."

"I want the next issue of my magazine to include columns from widows who 'found purpose'. Would you write me one? I want to talk about how women continue to build the British nation, how they never gave up, how they soldiered on."

"I can't see how I could refuse."

Xx

The confrontation with Jarvis is more than a little hairy. He tears up and tenders his resignation immediately, much to the Earl's dismay. Jarvis accuses Matthew and Mary of conspiracy and subterfuge, even trying to overturn the very bedrock of the British nation! The Dowager, enjoying the drama to the nth degree, scatters sarcasms and put downs with vigour and feels like a young girl again!

After Jarvis leaves, the Earl looks at his heir and his daughter.

"And where do you propose we go from here? Do you have a plan?"

"Our plan is for Mary to manage the estate, at least until the end of the year. It will give her time to train a replacement."

"It seems you have come with an entire coup, planned out, perfected!"

"Don't be mulish, Robert." Said his mother.

"Papa, we only want Downton to remain in the family, if we kept haemorrhaging money in the way that we did, we'd have lost at least one of the properties Look at what has happened to many families already after the war. The Mallorans have had to sell everything and only keep their London house. I'm not going to be the Countess of Grantham unless it means I live in Downton. We'd have to move to Downton Place, or move in with Granny."

The Dowager mentally screamed. The Earl, too, revolted from the thought.

The Earl hung his head. "Very well. But I am still the Earl of Grantham. I insist that we work collaboratively. Mary will be Senior Estate Manager and whoever we bring on will be the person who is here full time. But the decisions must be made together, or it is fruitless."

"Of course you are right, Robert. I look forward to this, I really do." Matthew reached across and shook his father-in-law's hand.

Raising their eyebrows at the sentimentality of men, the two ladies withdrew, pleased at the result of the day. The Dowager steered Mary into the pink morning room.

"And now, Mary dear, you have a little story to tell me. What is the real truth that Sybil faces?"

"Oh. Very well."

Xx


End file.
